A New Life
by K.B. Lukes
Summary: Due to a series of life changing events in her life, Rebecca moves with her mother and new stepfather and stepbrothers from Waco, Texas to Tulsa, Oklahoma, from upper class to lower. Her new stepbrothers become members of a gang, and she tries to fit in.
1. Chapter 1

It was raining hard that night we drove from Texas to Oklahoma

It was raining hard that night we drove from Texas to Oklahoma. It was more than the usual rainy summer night of these southern states where such weather this time of year was common. It was a full-blown storm, with driving rain, gusting winds, thunder, and flashes of lightening. Tears ran down my mother's face, like the raindrops on the side windows of the car.

If I had been old enough to drive, I would have. Where my mother was frightened of the prospects of the future, I looked to the inevitable changes with a sense of adventure. While she chained smoked to keep her nerves under control, I hung over the back of her seat telling her stories and jokes to make her laugh through her tears, keeping her focused on the road and awake as we drove through the storm in the middle of the night on unfamiliar roads. More than once she patted my hand with an expression of thanks that I was awake, optimistic, and kept her from swerving off the road.

We followed behind the old truck that held the belongings we couldn't or choose not to sell that my stepfather and stepbrothers were riding in ahead of us. Mother focused on the red taillights to serve as her guide on the road we couldn't see in the darkness of the early hours of the morning and blinding rain.

My new baby brother slept peacefully on the front seat next to Mother, oblivious to the storm and our mother's anxiety as we drove, unlike my cats, who were huddled terrified underneath the front seats. I smiled fondly at my little brother, and spoke in a soothing voice to my cats.

Traumatic changes in our family preyed on my mother's mind, making her nervous and anxious about the future that awaited us in the city and state to the north of the home we were leaving in Waco, Texas. My new stepfather worked as a factory worker in the petroleum industry, and he had been offered a transfer to Tulsa with a new company different than the one he had worked for in Texas with better pay and prospects of advancement in the company.

My mother continued to try to warn me about the changes I would be facing, especially in the type of people we would be associated with in our new neighborhood. She told me, "Now, honey, the type of neighborhood and people who live there will not be of the same educational level of what you have been used to."

I thought, "How bad could it be?" We had been living in a different part of Waco, though I took a bus to keep going to the same school, it was not the in the same district as the one my stepbrothers attended.

My father had died suddenly of a heart attack while at work. Our family had been in the oil business. So my life until he had died had been comfortable, and I had no concerns beyond what my clothes look like for school and getting my homework done on time.

My parents did not get along, and my father worked all the time and was rarely home. When my father passed away suddenly, he had not left my mother any of his money or life insurance in his will. Instead, it was safely secured in a trust fund for me when I reached the age of 18. Until then, it was untouchable.

My mother, suddenly free of my father's dominance of their 15 year marriage, explored sides of herself that she had never been allowed to discover when my father was alive. She had gone from her family growing up with her father as the dominant male figure in her life, to getting married right out of high school to another dominant male force in her relationship with my father.

After his funeral, Mother found a friend in a woman who had worked in my father's oil company, and she invited her to parties at her home. When she attended these parties, I was left at home and I had little idea what went on while she was gone for most of the night, and did not return until after midnight.

She seemed happy in her new found freedom, and she began to bring home bottles of wine to share with me, her eyes lighting up and our conversations now open between each other more like friends than as mother and child. I would worry about her being gone, but she was only a phone call away at her friend's house, and she always brought me home food and wine from the parties to share with me.

I would stay up until she returned safely home, no matter how late it was. Once she was home, we would stay up and talk until dawn, even on school nights. I didn't mind, as I read novels while she was gone and then had the privacy to dress up and act them out while no one was watching…something probably childish for someone in junior high, but it was my favorite thing to do. My main obsession at the moment was with Homer, and I loved to act out the scenes that involved the dialogues of Achilles or Odysseus. I always loved how the men were faced with the challenges of honor and duty, and were able to adventure and fight in the world. The thought of being a Helen, a passive beauty men fought over, disgusted me, and it was something I could not relate to with other girls my age. Not that girls my age were interested in Homer and classic literature, anyway.

And so our lives were not overly disrupted immediately by my father's death. He had not been home very much, so though I missed him, it wasn't much different than when he was at work or away on business for overnight trips. And now it was peaceful in the house…no fighting with my father gone. And quiet at night with my mom enjoying herself at parties instead of crying or ranting at me. It was a nice and welcome change.

Then my mother one night did not go out to her parties. Instead she began to sleep a lot, and the crying started again.

When I finally walked into her massive white bathroom when she didn't answer my quiet knocks, she was sitting down on the toilet, her heads in her hands, weeping as if her soul was breaking.

"Mother, what's wrong?"

"I'm pregnant!"

I had smiled at the thought of a little brother or sister. I had been an only child for a long time, and always wonder what it would be like to have siblings. I even prayed each night to have brothers, especially, because I just couldn't relate to girls and guys wouldn't even talk to me. I wanted to understand boys better, and I wished I had a brother close to my age to talk to. Not that a baby would pop out at my age, and I had chuckled to myself at the thought of it.

"Rebecca, it isn't a funny situation!" my mother had yelled at me, her face and eyes red and puffy from crying, misunderstanding why I was chuckling softly. "You have no idea how serious this is. What this means!"

I tried not to smile.

"Relax, Mother. It's ok. So you will have a baby. I always wanted to have a brother or sister! Don't worry; I'll take care of you and help you with the baby. It will be fine."

She sat back down, her head back in her hands again, moaning, "No, it won't. What am I going to do?"

Later on I found out what she was so panicked about. Her family disowned her, cutting her off from their financial support, when they found out. It was a disgrace to the family for their daughter to be running around with lower class people, staying out all night at parties, and sleeping around to get pregnant by a man not her husband. And within a few months, the money she had in savings began to run out. The bills piled up, and food became scarce in the cabinets. We had no prospects for an income. I began babysitting for neighbors to help as much as I could.

Mother became depressed, and I had to start hiding the wine bottles we had left from the parties before from her. She no longer went out. Her friend that introduced her to her new lifestyle that got her in the family way no longer called her on the phone to invite her out or even to chat. My grandparents stopped checking up on us, and the neighbors avoided us. Mother began sleeping all day and not getting out of bed to get dressed.

I finally asked her one-day, "What about the father? Don't you know who he is?"

"Yes, dear, I do know who the father is! I wasn't sleeping around with multiple men. Just one," her voice conveyed insult and bitterness.

"Well, why not ask him?" I suggested.

"Ask him what?"

"To help you."

"He can't. He…oh, dear, how do I explain this to my child? He isn't like your father…which is why I like him."

"Does he even know, Mother?"

"No."

"Shouldn't you tell him?"

"No!" she almost shouted. "He is a single father, raising two boys about your age. They can barely survive as it is. He doesn't need to add me, you, and an infant to his problems. This is my problem; not his."

"Mother," I began, trying to get her to see logic and reason, "We can't survive like this much longer. I am too young to work. Even barely surviving is better than not surviving at all. He needs to be told, and then you can get married to him."

"I can't marry him, Rebecca! I like him. He is sweet, and fun to be with, but I can't love him! And I will not marry again for survival or because it is expected; I will not make that mistake again."

"So don't marry him. But maybe he can help us in the meantime. Somehow."

"No."

She was adamant.

So I took matters into my own hands.

After school the next day, I looked up my mother's previous friend in the phone book, and then took a bus to her house. I waited until she got off work, sitting down doing my homework on her front porch until she came home.

She was startled to see me, and I demanded of her to tell me the name of the man my mother had been with at her parties. I guess she was in too much shock to be confronted by a thirteen year old, because she didn't hesitate with his name, though I think if she had time to think about it she would have denied knowing who he was or made up a story. I knew the man to be a close friend of hers, having heard about him when my mother told me about her nights at the parties. No one name had stood out in her stories above any other, and he was only mentioned in passing. I had not been able to tell by her statements that there was any man, not even this one, she was particularly drawn to.

I again walked to the nearest bus station, looking for a phone booth to look up the man's name. I bought a map at the station of the city streets, and looked up where the man lived.

The sun was beginning to set when I rode the bus to another side of town, very far from our neighborhood, and I had to walk several blocks from the bus stop to his house. He lived past the paved streets on dirt roads, in houses that barely looked like houses I knew. I knew I should have been nervous or scared, but I didn't want to think about it. All I felt was determination. I knew it was the right thing that this man should know about my mother, his child to be, and the situation we were in. My mother perhaps didn't love him, but maybe, perhaps, he loved her? At least would care about her? In my mind, a man raising two teenaged boys on his own could not be someone who was cold hearted, even if he didn't have much money.

It was hard to find the numbers of the address of the house. In fact, the house didn't even have numbers on the walls like in our neighborhood. Instead I found them under the dust on the mailbox.

The house that wasn't really a house, but I had no idea what it was to be called, had a dusty yard with no grass and no flowerbed, like in the neighborhoods I was used to. I could see a couple of tumbleweeds that had been blown to a halt at the walls of the home in the quickly descending darkness. In the dirt driveway was a beat up truck, and two cars that were missing wheels and engines, but looked like they were being worked on because of the tools that I tripped over on the ground as I walked towards the front door.

My heart now began to pound in nervousness, and I suddenly realized what I was actually doing. I was in a strange neighborhood, on the other side of town, on a street I didn't know and that didn't have any lights, at dark, and the buses will have stopped running by this time. I hadn't even thought of how I was going to get home.

I was a thirteen year old girl, out alone, at a stranger's house, a man who had gotten my mother pregnant and had two teenaged sons…the age of boys at school who didn't even talk to me and I knew nothing about.

Lights shown in the windows, and I stood on the porch uncertain of what to do, and listening with all of my being to what was going on inside as I tried to will my heart to stop pounding.

It was very quiet inside. There was no music, no conversation, no laughter, no television. In the few moments I listened there in the dark, they didn't even have a porch light on, I heard soft footsteps walking back and forth, and the water in the sink running a few times.

I finally got my courage up and knocked on the door. My knock sounded shockingly loud to me in the darkness, but it wasn't loud enough to be heard by the men inside. I knew that. I held my breath, and tried to decide if I was brave enough to knock a second time, or if I should just walk back home…somehow. Doubt began to settle in, and I tried not to think about my fears, and instead reminded myself why I was here in the first place.

Quiet footsteps came towards the door. And then they stopped. I held my breath. I stood there a long time, it seemed, wondering what would happen next. What was I going to do now?

And before I could come up with an answer, the door opened, and light from inside lit up the porch I standing on.

"Well, hello," the man who stood there said, his voice surprised, but not unkind. "Is everything ok? I thought I heard a knock, but I wasn't sure, it was so quiet. Is there something I can help you with?"

I stood up straight, the way my grandmother was always telling me to, and I announced to him, "I am Rebecca, Anne's daughter."

To my surprise, he smiled.

"Come in! Millie called and said you were looking for me earlier, that you were at her house earlier today. It's nice to finally meet you; I have heard a lot about you. How is Anne? I haven't seen her in quite awhile, and your phone is disconnected when I have called. I have been concerned, but I figured she decided not to see me or anyone else again."

The house inside was very plain, and out of date, but orderly and clean. It had an unusual smell, one I had never smelled before, and I had no idea what it indicated it could be. A big hound dog came up and tried to smell me under my skirt, and I kept pushing it away. He was introduced to me as Redbone, as the man named Jack Reed, pulled the dog back by his collar, which made him start barking at me.

Two boys about my age came out to see what was going on as the dog barked. Mr. Reed ordered the older boy, named Harry, to take the dog and put him in his room. He then introduced me to his younger son, named David.

David and I said a shy, "Hi," to one another as we were introduced. David and Harry both had white blond hair, and blue eyes. David's eyes were bigger than Harry's, I noticed, when Harry came back from putting Redbone in the back bedroom, where I could still hear his barking.

Jack Reed was not blond like his sons, but had the same blue eyes, only older and slightly darker. They were kind and smiling. His hair was chopped short and hung straight, a bit greasy like he hadn't washed it in a couple of days, or maybe he had oily hair that went limp at the end of the day even if he washed it daily, like I have heard girls complain about with their own hair. His cheeks were red, making his blue eyes seem to be a dominant trait. He was smiling at me, studying me in a curious way, but also with obvious happiness. My mother must have said nice things about him to me. It made me blush he knew who I was, when she didn't even talk to me about him in any special way. And I also felt my face go hot, knowing what my mother had been doing with this man to get her with child.

The two boys looked at me, their expressions blank and unreadable. And they didn't say anything.

I finally took a deep breath and said to him without preamble, "My mother needs your help."

Mr. Reed's face grew serious, and he told the boys to go to their rooms, which they did with a quiet, "Yes, sir," in response.

Mr. Reed had me sit down on his couch, and ask if I would like something to drink. I politely asked for a glass of water, which my family had told me to do whenever offered when visiting friends' or strangers homes'. He poured himself something from a glass canister, and sat down in a chair across from me.

"How can I help?" he asked.

It didn't seem right for me to tell him he was to be a father again. My mother should do that. So instead, I told him about how she was disowned from her family, how we had no money, and she was all alone with no friends.

He then smiled, patted my hand with affection, and told me not to worry, that everything will be all right.

I liked him immediately. He was obviously a very kind man, and it was obvious he cared about my mother. He didn't question me at all, and instead told his boys he was going to take me home to Anne, and they were to take care of themselves.

He then offered me to get in his truck, and I told him how to get to our house. Along the way, he spoke of things my mother had told him about me, and how he was happy to finally meet me. He again said how he didn't think Anne wanted to see him again, but he missed seeing her. And he was glad I came to him for help, that it was a very brave thing for a girl like me to seek him out like that all on her own.

When we got into our neighborhood, and I showed him our house, he expressed how nice of a place we lived in. He said he always knew my mother was "classy." I think he was honored that she had paid him special attention. There was a hint of awe in his voice, or maybe it was something else I didn't know how to identify.

I knocked before I entered the house, just to let my mother know there was someone beside myself with me.

She was actually up, showered, and dress, but it was obvious she had been crying. She had just started to head out to the police department to have them start looking for where I could be. She gaped when she saw who was with me.

She glared at me with anger that I had sought out Mr. Reed on my own, but it warred with her obvious relief that he was here, and there was a flicker of hope in her soft brown eyes for the first time in so many weeks.

They went upstairs to her bedroom, and I stayed down, turning on the television as I read my book, letting them know I respected their privacy.

Mr. Reed and my mother eloped to the courthouse to have a private wedding ceremony performed by a civil judge. I had had the feeling that Mr. Reed would do the right thing when he found out my mother was expecting his child, and my mother, despite her wishes to not marry because of it was expected of her, really had no choice in the matter. It was only proper, after all. I tried to keep my smiles secret from her, but she was happy again now that Mr. Reed was her husband.

She was even cheerful as we sold off all the belongings we could and the house. She now had her own money, and I think that helped with her sense of independence and freedom.

We moved into the little house that Mr. Reed and his sons lived in for about six months until my baby brother was born…the boys had to sleep in the living room, trading off each night who slept on the floor and who slept on the couch, because I was required to take their small room they had shared, since there were only two rooms in the house.

Jack was very nice to me. He told me he had always wanted a daughter, and we got along very well. He was very nice to my mother, even when she would yell, scream, and cry at him throughout her pregnancy. He always remained calm.

He was very strict with his boys, though, and at night he would threaten them and I would hear the sound of his belt cracking against their backsides. However, my brothers always just grinned the next day good naturedly, and would tease their dad about how much it hurt or didn't hurt, daring him to make it harder the next time. I didn't understand this type of discipline, what they were getting in trouble for, or why it was made to be a joke the next day.

My new stepbrothers were very respectful to me when our parents were around, but when we were alone, they spoke crudely and used profanity. I would ask them what it meant, the words they were saying, because I had never heard many of the words and phrases they used. At first they laughed at me, calling me names like "goody-two-shoes," but I was never offended, just curious. And one day they just stopped teasing me. I asked them why.

"Because you are really nice."

"So? What did it mean, those things you said to me before?"

"You aren't meant to know."

"Why not?"

"It's not your kind of language."

"Why is it your language and not mine? What makes us different?"

"Nevermind. If you don't know, then you aren't supposed to know."

"I don't get it."

"It's good that you don't."

"What do you mean by that?" I wanted to know.

They just shook their heads, smiled, and walked away.

One day, they were shooting BB guns in the backyard when our parents were in town at my mother's doctor's appointment.

I always wanted to learn how to shoot a gun. I wanted to learn how to hunt, but my family said it wasn't something for girls to learn how to do. I had hoped my brothers would teach me.

However, when I stepped outside, they were nowhere to be seen, hiding somewhere among the bushes that grew wild in the dust of the property.

I called their names. In turn, they would stand up, shoot at the ground near my feet, duck back down, and laugh.

I laughed with them, and called out I wanted to play, too. Asking them to teach me how to shoot.

Harry called out, his voice mocking, "You want to play?"

"Yes!"

"You can be the target!"

They both started laughing.

"Okay," I replied calmly. I was going to do whatever it took to be involved with their hobbies, and I would do what they asked of me to learn to shoot, no matter what it was.

After I answered, "okay," I heard their voices turn serious as they whispered to one another behind the bushes where I still could not see them. Their voices were so low I couldn't understand what they were saying. David sounded worried. Harry's voice was confident. I waited patiently for them to tell me what to do.

Then they both stood up.

Harry looked amused and determined. David looked concerned and worried.

"Alright," Harry instructed me, "now to be the target, just stand there with your arms out to your sides."

"Like this?" I asked, putting my arms out into a cross.

"Yeah," he smirked, "Just like that. Now stand still…"

David gasped a little, while Harry put the rifle to his shoulder and squinted one eye as he aimed.

I knew he was only trying to scare me off, and I wasn't afraid. I knew he really wouldn't hurt me, or he would get into a lot of trouble with his dad and my mother.

I stood still.

"Ouch," I said, surprised by the sting that hit my right arm, but I didn't move.

"Oh, shit!" David gasped, "I told you not to do it, Harry!"

Harry's face was no longer joking, and he ran to me, concerned.

"Shit, Becky, I didn't mean to hit ya! Are you ok?"

"I'm fine; keep shooting."

"Shut up. Let me see…"

He helped me look at where the BB pellet had hit me. It was just a tiny little bruise, a little dot on my skin that was becoming a black-blue.

"It's fine, Harry. Just a little dot, see?" I told him.

David's face was white with terror.

"Oh my God, Harry! I told you not to shoot at her!" he was shouting.

"Shut up, David," Harry told him coldly.

To me, his voice was gentle with apology.

"I seriously didn't mean to hit ya, Becky. Are you going to tell?"

"Why would I tell? I agreed to be your target," I replied reasonably. And I wondered if David was concerned because I got hurt, or because he was afraid he would get in trouble. Not knowing was something of a curiosity to me.

"Yeah, and that was stupid," Harry was talking to me now like I was actually a person, something he had never done before. "And if you told, it wouldn't matter to my dad. We would still get punished for it. Why did you agree to it, anyway?"

"Because I want to learn," I explained.

"Now what?" David asked. Was he asking me, or his brother? I couldn't tell.

Harry shook his head.

"I could have blinded you, Becky," Harry told me. Only my new family called me Becky. I had always been Rebecca before, and it was what my mother still called me.

"Nah," I replied, "Only if you did it on purpose. I know you must be a better shot than that."

"How would you know I wasn't aiming at your eye in the first place?" Harry wanted to know.

"I know you were only shooting to scare me. I don't scare easily like that."

Harry grinned at this point.

"I guess not. You want to learn how to shoot?"

"Yeah." I never said yeah, but it felt right I should to my new older brother. My mother would never let me answer anyone else like that, but she wasn't here. It felt good to say something that was forbidden.

"And you are sure you are ok?"

"Yeah."

David made a small grunting sound of warning.

"And you promise not to tell?"

"I promise."

"Alright," Harry agreed. "I'll teach you to shoot."

David made a strangling sound, and Harry pulled him away from me, and they whispered too low for me to hear among themselves. I waited, standing where I was, ignoring the stinging type pain on the skin of my arm, until Harry called me over to the bushes.

And he taught me how to shoot. I fancied myself a version of Annie Oakley as Harry called me "a natural" at it. After that, they still didn't really talk to me, but Harry would smile at me in a friendly way, though David would glare resentfully at me or look frightened.

Another time, David and I were walking alone together after picking some apples in an orchard that was located a few miles away. We both carried a grocery sack of apples to take home and share with the family.

We passed by a house where a boy called out to us, "Hey, David!"

"Yeah," he yelled back.

"Your sister is a…..and I am going to…..to her…"

I didn't know the name he was calling me by, or what he was planning to do to me.

"What did he say, David?" I asked.

His ears had turned bright red, and he no longer looked friendly where the boy was concerned. He put his head down and walked faster.

"Ignore him. Just keep walking, Becky. Do…not…turn…around."

It was hard not to turn back and look at the boy who had called out, and was saying something again.

"Hey, David, man, did you hear me about your sister? Come here…I have something to show you…"

"David, isn't that boy a friend of yours?" I asked.

"Not anymore, he ain't," David replied, his voice hard and angry.

"Hey, David…you a pussy now?"

"That's it!" David exclaimed, throwing the bag of apples down on the ground, and turning around, his body tense, his face red with anger.

The boy across the street starting whooping and hollering with delight.

"Yeah, man, that's more like it!"

I put out a hand on David's arm to stop him, wondering what he was so mad about.

"David, are you going over there to fight with that kid?"

"No, I am going over there to bash his head in! It won't be a fight; just a slaughter!"

"Why?"

"Why?" David was shocked I would ask such a question, "Why?! Becky, did you hear what he called me?! Not to mention how he insulted my sister…even if you are…oh, nevermind, let me go!"

"I heard him call you a pussy. So what?"

"So what? Do you know what that means?! What he is implying?!"

"Sure," I shrugged, wondering what the big deal was, "He said you were soft, like a pussy cat, a kitty cat. So what? It is just sophomoric name-calling. Ignore him, like you were to begin with."

He stared at me in disbelief, his anger forgotten, though the boy was still laughing and calling out to him.

"No, it doesn't mean a kitty cat, Becky. If that was what it meant, I wouldn't care. It means…" he hesitated.

"What does it mean, David?"

"Never mind! Oh my God!"

He snatched up his bag of apples and grabbed my arm.

"Come on; I gotta get you out of here. Dad and Harry was right about you, after all."

I then had to run a little to keep up with his pace. The boy was still yelling, his voice growing desperate in an angry way, but it was fading behind us.

"What are you talking about?" I asked him, trying desperately to understand.

"Do you have any idea, Becky, what a reputation means? Why it is important?"

"I guess," I answered, thinking about my mother being disowned by her family.

"Oh, god, no you don't," he growled with a sigh. "You have no idea. Come on, hurry up! I need to get you home, so I can deal with what happened here."

"David! Are you going back to beat up that boy? And you can't right now because I am here? Is this what you do when I am not around? Why? Because he called you a few names? Do you know how stupid that is?!"

"Becky!" he yelled at me. Then stopped for a moment, letting my arm go, then clenching his fists. "Look, just shut up, ok? This is…a boy thing. Boys fight; we have to. You're a girl, and you're…not from this neighborhood. In fact, here, take my bag, and just go home. Tell mom and dad I will be back later…"

"David! I will not! I cannot carry your bag and my own as well. And, you have no business fighting! Boys do not have to fight! You did the right thing for walking away, and…"

"God, just shut up, will ya!" he yelled at me. "Fine! I will carry the bag home, just do not say another word, because you just do not get it!"

"Fine!" I seethed back, and started walking fast and angry.

We walked home in silence, both of us nurturing our angry thoughts, not speaking to one another. How was I supposed to understand anything about boys if they didn't explain it to me? Instead of brothers enlightening me to the mystery of boys, it only left me feeling more confused and frustrated. Why was I excluded from certain things only because of my gender?

I tried to win the boys over by cooking good dinners with whatever supplies we had in the kitchen. Often, there were things I had never seen, and Harry would teach me how to make dinners I had never experienced before…the dinners of the poor and low class he joked. Though simple and not appetizing to look at, they were surprisingly good. I had never had potted meat before, or had potatoes as the main course, and I adjusted to the change in diet with a sense of adventure of experiencing something I had never had before.

After a time, instead of trying to make full meals, I focused on making different batches of cookies for my brothers to try. They loved every batch, and even David's face would light up with a smile of appreciation whenever I was in the kitchen cooking up every type of cookie I could find in a cookbook or my mother's family recipe box. Even if they were undercooked or overcooked, they never complained, and just expressed gratitude for my efforts. I felt I had finally earned my place in their lives as a family member.

Now we were moving to Tulsa, Oklahoma to a new house, a new neighborhood, and Jack had a new higher paying job. Our baby brother, Joey, was just a few weeks old now, and though all three of us took care of our new sibling, being the girl, I was the main babysitter and housekeeper.

Jack would take my mom out to the parties again, and she was once again happy before she found out she was pregnant. She may have been afraid of getting married, but she was happier than she was when she had been with my father. And I liked Jack and my brothers.

Moving to a new town would be great! I thought. A new school where no one knew my life before, a school where David and I would be in the same grade, though he was a year older; he had been held back a grade in elementary school. We would all have our own bedrooms at our new house, some old style house on the eastside of Tulsa.

The rain had stopped by the time we entered the Tulsa city limits. I was really excited to see that the city had hills, trees, and a large river…not like the flat and boring landscape we had been driving through most of the state, or most of the cities of Texas. Everything would be great! Things would be different now…I was definitely right about them being different.


	2. Chapter 2

Rain, rain, go away. Gloomy, grey days.

I sighed.

It was summer, so why was it still raining? How was I going to get to see what my new neighborhood looked like? How was I going to meet any new friends before school started? There was a park across the street, but in this wet drizzle, no one visited it.

I helped Mother unpack. I set up my room. I watched Baby Joey. Days were becoming tedious and boring.

Noticing my blue mood, Mother told me in a conspiratorous whisper that the Indians have a saying that it is good luck to move in the rain. Mother had a cousin who was a preacher in the Baptist Church and would go onto the reservation to work with the Indians. Mother had gone with him to help out sometimes, and she has an interest in their heathen ways. Most of the time such sayings and customs would interest me, but today it was just one more thing to add to the monotony.

Mother frowned, noticing she hadn't made me smile.

"I wish I knew the neighborhood better so you could go to the movies. There's a theatre not too far from here. I know how you hate to be cooped up in the house. I wonder where your brothers are?"

No telling, I thought. They had an annoying habit of disappearing when there was work to be done. I have tried to search them out around the house, even outside, but they disappear during the day, and show up for dinner, only to disappear again. Any questions I would inquire of them of where they go and what they do, especially in the rain, was only met with sly smiles. Obviously I am just a girl who wasn't worth their notice – again. Except when it came to eating for meals. I just wish the rain would let up.

I sat on the window chair and looked out at the damp park, imagining children playing there, imagining myself in the swing, the sun shining, the sky blue, the air warm and dry – as summers should be. My daydreaming made me think of a story, so I went upstairs to my room to lie on my bed and write in my diary. I had been keeping a diary for two years now, mostly just writing my day dreams and stories. My wonderings led to me thinking of what the kids in Oklahoma were like.

When this grew boring, I started writing letters to friends and family back in Texas. I was beginning to miss Waco. The sense of excitement and adventure of moving to a new place was wearing off.

Finally, two days later, the sun came out, and although the grass was still damp, I woke up to the sound of children playing at the park. Yet Mother decided this was the day to wash all the crystal and polish the silver, so I wasn't able to get outside yet. She did let me listen to the radio, though, and I was happy to know that the music was hip enough to be current. I sang along to the Mamas and the Papas, and the Beach Boys. California Dreaming – yeah, someday I would like to go to the beach in California! I wonder if the sun there would bleach my hair out to a lighter blond that it was? I had been to the beach on the Gulf, and that was okay. But California boys are probably dreamy and hip, not like the hicks I have heard Oklahoma boys were.

I was thinking about the conversation I had on the phone with Barbara, my best friend still in Waco. She said she had a cousin who had come here to Tulsa last summer, and so she had some gossip about the boys here. She said there were some nice boys, but there were a lot of riff raff, Okie boys who drank too much, rode horses like real cowboys in rodeos…which we had in Texas, so how was that different? She said the Tulsa boys were like the Houston boys, tougher, meaner, and profane…having no idea how to treat a lady. But these Okie cowboys were also good kissers! If you just ignored the smell of tobacco on their breath. Ick! Barbara's voice in telling me about her cousin's adventures last summer held both disgust and curious anticipation, like the idea of the thrill of kissing a bad boy was appealing to her, but didn't want me to know it. I had no intentions of kissing an Okie cowboy. I would find me a nice boy to be my steady. Someone like a California boy. My Daddy told me to stay away from cowboys, they were bad news for a nice girl.

By the time I finished polishing the last of great-grandmommy's silverware, it was time to set the table for dinner and help with making the meal. Finally, when dinner was eaten and the dishes done, I had some free time to myself. The sun was still up, so I snuck outside to run across to the park before Mother noticed.

The smell of damp grass was still apparent, and the air was as humid has it had been all day. All the kids were gone from the park now, having been called into dinner, I supposed. I ran off across the street at a sprint, running as fast and hard as I could, releasing the pent up energy of being inside for the last four days. There was a little incline of a hill to get to the playground from my side of the house, and when I got to the top, I could see the sun was just beginning to set. In the west were still the remnants of the rain clouds, and hid some of the sunlight, resulting in sun beams filtering through. The presence of God, my daddy used to say. There was a developing rose pink and purple hue beginning to be seen, and I didn't have much time before twilight. I needed to hurry and play a little before Mother noticed I was gone, but glory, it was going to be a pretty sunset! Daddy liked to show me sunsets, and liked to sit with me on the porch during lightening storms. Thinking of Daddy gave me a sharp pain in the chest, and I would have to run it off.

I pounded my legs hard against the ground,and then sprung up to do a hand spring, leading into a cartwheel. Hands up to complete the dismount, I did a half turn and ran again, turning into as many cartwheels as I could until I felt myself curving from a straight line, then turned it into a rolling sommersault. I felt the damp ground under me and down my back, and I would probably be dirty. I didn't care. Gymnastics was one of my few loves in life where I could just forget anything but the feel of my body moving. I needed to feel like flying. I needed the bars.

Panting slightly, I turned to look around for the chinup bars that parks usually had, and then sprinted towards them. I ran, flipped myself up and over, and then spun downwards around my hips. I then flipped my legs through my arms to hook my knees over the bar, and then just holding with minimal pressure, I spun around as fast as I could. When I was sufficiently dizzy enough, I timed the movement of my twirling to fling my body upwards towards the sky, letting loose with my legs, did a complete flip, and landed with a good solid dismount, feet together, back straight, and I shoved my arms straight into the air, catching my breath.

It was at this point I felt someone staring at me, and I turned to my right to see a boy slouching against a tree, smoking a cigarette. My heart stopped in startlement and embarrassment. I did have my shorts on under my skirt, didn't I? Some girls wore petal pushers, but I had only one pair Grandmother bought me, and it was in the wash. I didn't plan on twirling and doing cartwheels, but I always twirled at school, so hopefully I put the shorts on out of habit. I did, didn't I?

And then I realized my wondering if my shorts were on were from Mother's voice of her lectures that a lady must be modest. What did I care if a boy saw my underpants? It would say more that the boy was a creep more than I was immodest. A nice boy wouldn't look.

My embarrassment evaporated, and instead I lifted my head up, and gave the boy watching an indignant glare. A nice boy wouldn't stare!

He just squinted his eyes as the smoke rose up around his head, and cocked his head to the side. I shifted my hips into more classy stance and crossed my arms, daring him to approach me.

He took the cigarette out of his mouth, licked his lips, and then crushed out the cigarette under his foot. He didn't move from his spot, and continued to stare. So I stared back. This staring contest went on for several moments, until his lips quirked in a little smile. He then did a back flip, glanced back over at his shoulder at me, then walked away in the opposite direction.

I was left feeling confused. It was like some type of silent conversation had taken place, but as to what had been said between us, I had no idea. Creepy kid.

I suddenly realized that the sky had darkened to a deeper purple and darker rose color. I had to get home.

"Rebecca, go find your brothers," Mother ordered me as soon as I stepped through the door.

"I don't know where they are. Where do you suggest I look?"

"I saw some boys talking on the other side of the park, across the street. A bunch of boys trying to act like a gang of thugs, if you ask me. I am starting to think that's where your brothers have been disappearing to."

"And you want me to go over there…alone?"

"No one would dare hurt a nice girl like you, and you know it. Just run over there, see if they are there, and tell them to come home if you see them. If you don't, just come home. If your brothers give you any grief, let them know they will get whipped for it when their daddy gets home. Got it?"

That was the direction the creepy boy from the park had walked towards. I wasn't keen on the idea of walking that direction to look for my brothers amongst a bunch of kids pretending to be thugs, but at the same time, I would get the chance to see more of the neighborhood. Maybe there would be a nice, good-looking boy around.

As I started back across the street, I became self-conscious about meeting any other boy, realizing that I probably had grass in my hair and dirt down my back. I wish I had thought about changing my clothes before I left. And then I told myself I shouldn't care. I was just looking for my older brothers. I decided to be angry at them for leaving me with all the work of cleaning the house and unpacking. Lazy jerks!

Be angry, I told myself, as my heart began to pound in my chest as I crested the park that separated our side of the street from the other one. The thought I should have changed clothes kept sneaking into my thoughts. I will not be embarrassed, I told myself firmly.

It was hard to keep this resolve up, however, as I crossed the street to where there was a gang of boys standing around, smoking, talking, and laughing. I tried not to gasp in sudden fright. Mother said they looked like thugs…I think they were thugs! The language and laughter was harsh, bitterness and anger touching the edge of their voices. And such language! Grandmother said such language was of the uneducated because they didn't have the vocabulary to think of the proper words, mores the pity. Was it their fault they were poorly educated? It was then I realized something: we lived on the wrong side of the tracks, as grandfather would say! Did Mother and Jack know? Or did the park separate one class of neighborhood from another? Suddenly I was very self-conscious and wished no one would notice me. There were two girls in the group of boys, hanging on a couple of boys, laughing along with whatever the conversation was, using the same type of language. One boy with greasy hair began kissing long and hard. Glory! I thought. Did they even stop to take a breath? Disgusting. Definitely low class. How did I find myself here?

And then there was that creepy boy from the park again! He had another cigarette in his mouth, and he cocked his head to the side when he noticed me. No smile, just the same intense stare as our eyes met. I glared back again. His lips smirked. My heart pounded harder, so I just lifted my chin. I was a high class girl, a proper lady. I belonged anywhere I happened to be – so Grandmother taught me. He seemed to be the only boy who noticed me, even though there were several other kids hanging around. I licked my lips as my mouth had suddenly gone dry. I contemplated running back home. Why wouldn't that kid stop staring at me?!

Then a greasy black hair kid wearing a jean jacket, also smoking – did everyone smoke here? looked up at the creepy kid, and then followed his eyes to see what he was looking at. Which, of course, was me! He had a fresh cut on his cheek, and his expressionless face and empty eyes made me wonder what did these kids do?! I had heard about gangs and gang fights… I forced my expression to smooth out into serene benevolence. They wouldn't dare hurt me, I told myself. Purity protects nice girls, and I was a nice girl. I ignored the curse words being thrown about in the air around me, and wondered where the heck were my brothers?!

Then I heard David's laugh, and saw that across from the creepy two boys smoking was David, doubled up with laughter, spitting out whatever it was he had been drinking.

Impulsively I called out his name. I wanted to tell him to get home, and then I could run back home myself, where it was safe and boring…

"Oh, shit," he grinned, still laughing. "My step-sister's here." He seemed to think that was hilarious, and he fell to the ground still doubled-up with laughter.

"Where?" I heard Harry ask, and his dark blond head peered around a bigger guy wearing a white t-shirt and black leather jacket. Our eyes met, and he echoed David's, "Shit."

"What are you doing here, Becky?" he finally asked, his voice tinged with anger, having obviously and quickly gotten over the shock of me showing up out of the blue.

"Mother said ya'll better get home now," I replied.

He rolled his eyes. The other kids around him mocked him saying, "Mommy wants you home, Harry! Mommy's calling you! Hey, aren't you goin' to introduce us all to your little sister?"

Harry ignored them, while each tease just sent David into roaring gales of laughter. He laughed so hard I could tell he had tears running down his face.

Harry stepped out from the gang of kids.

"Becky, go home," he ordered me, his voice hard, and was meant to broker no argument or defiance on my part. "You don't belong here."

He then shouted, "Shut up!" to the kids behind him as he walked towards me. I didn't move, and waited for him to approach me, ignoring the kids like he was.

"Go home, Becky," he repeated, his voice now softer he was closer to me where the other kids couldn't hear. "You shouldn't have come over here."

"Mother says you are to get home," I reminded him, my voice low. It was a warning, and conveyed to him I had no choice but to obey Mother to come look for him. If he hadn't kept disappearing, I wouldn't have had to come looking for him!

"We'll be home later," he told me.

"Mother says ya'll get whipped if you don't come back with me," I whispered to him.

He rolled his eyes, and then blew out a hard sigh.

From the gang of kids a profane and low class comment was made about me, and I felt my face grow hot, but continued to ignore them. David agreed out loud with the comment, and guffawed at my expense.

Harry's eyes hardened with anger , but to me he said, "Don't listen. I'll deal with it. Now, just go on back home."

"What should I tell Mother?" I asked him, my voice still low, and forced myself to look at Harry's face and not acknowledge the kids his back was towards.

"You don't have to tell her anything. We'll be right behind you. Just start walking, and don't turn around. Okay?"

I nodded, and did what he told me to do, feeling like I had just wandered into another country that was not America, was not the world I had always known, one that my new brothers obviously knew and belonged to, and I began to wonder as I walked, just what was the family background of the man my mother had married and had a child with? Or was this just Tulsa?

I heard David call out, "Oww! Damn, Harry, what the hell was that for?"

"Got you to stop laughing like a maniac, didn't it?" was Harry's reply. I listened to him as best as I could as I walked back towards the park tell his new friends that he had to check in with his family, but they would be back later. Harry's voice held an element of authority in it that I thought that he only used with David. The harsh voices lowered down with a respectful element of understanding, even though the humor that had colored the atmosphere of the conversation previously was still apparent. I kept walking without turning around even as I heard Harry and David starting to walk behind me, Harry being true to his word to me, and David's voice protesting that they were actually going home just because the bitch told them to. I didn't know if David meant me or my mother was the bitch he was referring to. Harry told him to shut the hell up and sober up. David shot back with, "Killjoy!" And I glanced a chance to look back to see Harry smack David in the head.

"You better wise up, kid brother," Harry told him, his voice hard. "And you better pray that Becky don't say nothin' to Anne or Dad, 'cause we'll be both whipped and grounded if she does."

I decided to stop and wait for them, now we were out of sight and earshot of the other kids. Harry's face was expressionless, but David glared at me. Harry noticed David's angry look and smacked him in the back of the head again.

Harry sighed with resignation and then said, "What is it, Becky?"

I waited a moment, thinking, and then said in a soft promise, "I won't tell."

"She's lying!" David blurted out. "She's the type to tell, I can tell!"

"Shut up, David," Harry said mildly. To me, he said, "Thanks."

I nodded, and then put my head down, and started walking back. David didn't trust me. My brothers were bad boys. And I was now living on the wrong side of the tracks. I wasn't sure how I was going to deal with all of these sudden realizations. I was a nice girl, in the wrong neighborhood. I felt lost, and I had to admit to myself, I was also scared.

Harry's voice suddenly stopped me, breaking into my thoughts.

"Why?"

I was confused. "What do you mean?"

"Why did you decide to promise not to tell?"

"Would it do any good?"

"Huh?"

"It seems like you know what you are doing. I don't get it, but you seem to know what you are doing. If I say anything about it, what good would it do? You'd just get in trouble. You'd hate me. You'd still do what you do. I don't want you to hate me. "

"We don't hate you," Harry's voice seemed to hold wonderment. "You're a pretty cool chick, for being a classy girl. If I have to have a sister, I would rather have a sister like you than one of the greasy girls."

"Greasy girls?" I asked.

"Yeah, greasy girls, which what we would have is if David was my sister from my dad and mom. Instead, Dad married Anne and we got a nice girl like you for a sister, who is a cool cook. Anne shouldn't have sent you across the park to look for us. I hate that you had to hear those things, but it's how greasers talk, you dig?"

"I guess so," I replied, although I didn't understand at all.

"If I was your sister? What the…?" David's voice slurred and his eyes were glassy. "Are you calling me a pussy, Harry?"

Harry ignored his brother's comment, and instead said, "I told you, you better sober up, David. If you can't sober up when you need to, I ain't going to cover for you anymore."

"What exactly is a pussy?"I inquired. "I have heard that expression before, but David wouldn't tell me what it meant."

Harry sighed. "Girl, if I explain these things to you, you damn well better not tell your mom or my dad I have! You dig?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "I promise not to say anything. I just want to understand you guys, that's all."

Harry's face was serious, and he seemed to think about things, weighing whatever it was he had to weigh in the situation, and then came to a conclusion about me…which I could tell he wasn't happy about. There was skepticism there, and I could feel he was taking some type of risk by explaining things to me. By now we were at the playground, and as David ran to play on the swings like he was some little kid, David leaned against the monkey bars. He looked at me like he was painting a picture of me in his mind, and I managed to smother the gasp of surprise that came up when he shook out a cigarette and lit it. He breathed in the smoke, and lounged back against the monkey bars as we both ignored the drunken whoops from David playing on the swings.

"Look, kid, you're a nice girl, and nice girls aren't supposed to know these things. Are you sure you want to learn? It will break down your little ivory tower you live in. Ignorance is bliss, and all that."

"What's that supposed to mean, Harry?"

He didn't answer. He just looked at me, waiting for an answer, while he slouched and smoked. I thought about what he was saying.

Slowly I asked, "We live on the wrong side of the tracks now, huh?"

He nodded. "Kid, we always have. All our lives. It's you who has taken a glimpse on the other side of the tracks, and if you step over that line, there ain't no goin' back. And you know, you really shouldn't step over it. You should stay in the house like a good little girl, cook and clean for mama, live in your ivory tower, marry a nice boy, have little nice kids, live in a nice house and all of that. Dad told us to keep you there, or he would kill us. And I should honor Dad's wishes and just not answer you. But, kid, it's your choice now. And you asked."

David seemed to know what was going on, and he rushed over, a bit unsteady in his gait. "Harry…don't…Dad said…"

"Shut up, David," Harry said mildly. And then he smiled, there was something about the smirk that looked wicked and predatory. His eyes gleamed, and I felt he was daring me, testing me somehow.

I replayed the words he had spoken to me in my head. "…Stay in the hose like a good little girl, cook and clean for mama…ivory tower…ignorance is bliss…" his voice had been mild, but I realized now thinking replaying his words in my head that he was actually mocking me. Something jerked inside of my soul, and I felt a spark flare up of an emotion I couldn't name.

"Oh, god," David groaned and turned pale. "Oh, god. Oh, god! Give me a smoke, Harry. Now!"

Harry gave him a cigarette while never taking his eyes off of me. David breathed in long and deep the smoke from his cigarette, and then took my arm, pulling me away from Harry. His breath was coming in shallow gasps.

"Becky, don't…" he began, his voice pleading. "Harry's just messing with you. Just ignore him. I'm sorry I laughed at you. I didn't mean nothin' by it. I was just playin' around, you know? We ain't nice guys, Beck. You don't want to know about us. You don't want to. So just say no, and let's go home, okay?"

"But, David, I do want to know! I want to understand. I love you guys! I want you guys to trust me, to like me…"

"Oh, god! Becky…then trust me, you don't want to know! Please tell Harry no, okay? Trust me, and everything will be okay."

"David, is there something wrong with me being a nice girl?"

"No! Oh, god, no! Don't let him play with your mind, okay? It's cool you're a nice girl. Don't go changin' that."

I put my hand on his shoulder. He really looked like he was upset about this, something was scaring him about it, and I didn't know what it was. David was only half a year older than myself, and because he had been held back in elementary school, we were now in the same grade. Harry was much older. I realized at that moment that David actually cared about me; the rest was all an act. I didn't understand why, but I understand there was a world they lived by with unspoken rules, a hidden world I was blind to, but had seen a glimpse of it when I crossed the park.

"Look, David, I am not going to stop being a nice girl just because you guys are bad kids."

"Greasers," he mumbled to me. "They call us greasers here, not "bad kids." We aren't in grade school, you know."

"Okay, greasers. Is it some type of gang? Are ya'll in a gang?"

"Well…sort of…"

Harry walked over, having finished his cigarette.

"So, did you decide, princess? What'll it be?"

I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Knowledge is power. Only with knowledge can there be freedom of choice. My fate is not decided if I understand what is going on."

Harry laughed. "Touché, little sister. Dad said you were a smart cookie."

"So what do you mean ya'll are greasers, and is it a gang or not?"

"Greasers is not a gang," Harry explained, his tone back to its normal tone, minus the mockery. "It is what people here call guys like us living on the East Side of the tracks. It don't mean nothin' more than that.

"Greasers ain't a gang…but me and David here, are lookin' to get into a local gang. There's this guy we have met you saw over there…Tim Shepard. We were in our gang back in Texas, and he's talking to our leader there and stuff…"

"So all those guys you were hanging out with, and the girls…they're a gang, too?"

"No. Some of them are of Shepard's gang. The rest are just guys who live in this neighborhood. Not everyone is in a gang."

"So why be in a gang?"

"Protection and stuff, you know? We're new kids, and when you're new it's hard to start over establishing a new rep and all. So Shepard just calls the gang back home, they vouch, we prove ourselves, and get in. Dig?"

"Not really," I admitted.

Harry laughed. "Don't worry about it. Just know that once we get accepted and all, you don't have to worry about them talking like they did about you just now. No one will mess with you in this neighborhood. Until then, though, you should stay inside, where it is safe."

"Where it is safe?" I repeated.

"Yeah. Don't worry about it. We've got your back, sis; it's our job. We're family now. And we can all start school without any concerns. That's all you need to know. Alright, now let's get on home."

"Don't say nothin'," David said as we started walking towards home. It sounded like he meant it as a threat, but it came out as a plea. "You promised. Dad will kill us."

It was almost full dark when we started crossing the street back to the house. The street lights had come on, and the lights were on in the house. Jack's truck was in the driveway, so he had come home while I was out getting my brothers.

David cursed low and soft.

"Easy, little brother," Harry assured him. "Just be cool and let me talk. And keep your head down, for god's sake. Maybe they won't notice your eyes…"

As we walked up the porch steps to the front door together, I realized my heart was still pounding in my chest. Did it ever stop? I wondered. Since Mother sent me to get Harry and David? Why? Why was I afraid? The new feeling of being in another country continued…and it refused to go away.


	3. Chapter 3

School had started. Mother insisted that I had to take the school bus. I hated taking the bus. At the bus stop, the kids weren't nice and their language embarrassed me. David and his new friends teased me about how red my cheeks would get, and I have taken to keeping my head down over my books.

On the bus, the lewd comments continued. The bus driver noticed my discomfort and took pity on me, letting me sit up in the front of the bus. However, after school driving home, the front seats were taken by the younger kids, and I would have to sit in the back. Both boys and girls would yank at my hair, making fun of my natural curls, when the style was straight hair. More than once my pocketbook was thrown out the school bus window. Once they threw out my math book. My teacher was understanding and replaced it without telling my mother.

Harry got on David for not sticking up for me on the bus, so with some resentment; he started getting into fights to keep me from getting teased. And this helped for a couple of weeks until he was arrested for being drunk and disorderly on the bus. I am not sure how he got drunk so fast. We boarded at the same time. I sat up front, and he sat in the back with Curly Shepard, and by second block my new found friend, Janet, told me how they were both arrested as soon as they stepped off the bus at school. She thought it was exciting gossip, and she loved telling everyone the story. They weren't sent to reform school, but were sent home on suspension. My mother thought suspension was the most ignorant form of discipline, for David and Curly would just hang out on the streets, smoking cigarettes, and getting even more drunk. This ultimately led to them skipping school.

The girls at school would tell me how adorable my brothers were, especially David since he had almost white blond hair and bright blue eyes. He was small for his age, quick tempered getting into fights, and was tough…something everyone seemed to admire. He started growing his hair out long, he and Harry did, and then started lathering on some type of hair grease to slick his straight hair back with a comb. David's hair always fell back into his face, though, even with the hair grease, and to me he just looked like a stupid kid who needed a hair cut.

Harry, on the other hand, looked pretty nice with long hair. His was a darker blond, and instead of slicking it back like David try to do, he styled it off to the side with a neat part. It grew out long, but not shaggy or hood-like. He looked like a nice respectable teenager with longer than average hair. Girls would pretend to swoon over both of their adorable looks, and asked me, since they were my stepbrothers and not blood related, if I ever kissed them. Eww. Ick. No.

David not only got into fights at the bus stop, but also in the halls between classes as well. Once we were walking to class together, and some other guy bumped into me. David pushed him. The guy pushed back, and despite my protests, they started punching one another. The other kid managed to hit David in the mouth so hard it threw him up against the lockers. David wiped the blood from his mouth, cursed the guy out, and then to my horror pulled a switchblade from his back jeans pocket. The kids in the hallway went wild with exited yells of, "Fight! Fight!" until the teachers started coming out of the classrooms and running down the hall. The kids just pulled in tighter, closer to the fight, as I tried to back away from the scene, both embarrassed and horrified by my brother being in a school fight, with a weapon. I watched as another greaser lit his lighter and then threw it into a trash can nearby, laughing as the flames ignited quickly by the papers inside. Someone else yelled happily, and pulled the fire alarm. And then there was excited screaming as everyone pushed to get outside to the lawn in front of the school. A lot of the kids took this as a chance to take the rest of the day off.

Mother continued to have me go to fetch my brothers from the other side for dinner each night where they hung out with their gang of hoodlums. My face burned with self-conscious embarrassment every night I had to walk up to the circle of smoking and cursing hoods. As the summer turned into autumn, and the night crept in faster, the lit amber end of their cigarettes could be seen from a distance, and the flash of a lighter or match would momentarily light up the greasers' face in a way that I found eerie and frightening. Their "tuff" black leather or blue jean jackets, white t-shirts, and long greasy hair I came to recognize as meaning intimidation and violent intent. They reminded me of being a pack of wild coyotes in the Texas desert, hunting as a pack, viciously slaying anything or anyone who came into their territory, which they called their "turf." I halfway wondered if they marked their territory by urinating around the vacant lot and alleyways they hung out in, and then stopped the thought in case they could actually read my mind. I would pull my sweater across my midsection tight, and cross my arms as I walked up, head down, feeling their eyes staring at me, always staring at me, and I knew they were laughing at me, mocking me, hating me because I wasn't one of them.

Harry was true to his word in that when I walked up, the foul language and cursing would immediately stop, but the following silence of malice was somehow worse. Since my brothers would go back out after dinner, I tried to bring the cookies I made out to them…but the comments about my kitchen aprons from the greasy girls as they laughed at my domestic attire made it hard for me to keep doing so, even though Harry said not to listen to the girls, they were just jealous because I was a good cook and prettier than they were. I guessed it was in an attempt to make me feel better than he started pointing out the flaws of the greasy girls he hung out with, like Carol, who had a large gap between her two front teeth, wore too much makeup, her skirts too short, and laughed too loud. I believed him at first, until one night when I came to get my brothers for dinner Harry was making out with Carol under the street lamp. The next thing I knew, she was his steady girlfriend.

When David was suspended for being drunk and disorderly on the bus, Harry sent Carol to sit with me on the bus. She told him how I sang to myself while writing in my notebook when riding on the bus. Harry was kind when he asked me if I sang to myself on the bus, and did I read and write, too? I told him I did, but I didn't think Carol or anyone else could hear me sing softly to myself, it was just something I did. I would sing the songs I heard on the radio when I got ready in the morning, and it helped keep my mind off the fact that I was so disliked by the kids in our neighborhood.

"Well, no wonder people think you are weird, kid!" Harry explained, and then chuckled. "Look, just read, write, and sing at home when you are in the bedroom, okay? Stop doing that on the bus, and you'll be fine."

But I couldn't do that, so I just started walking to school. It wasn't that far, anyway. And it solved the problems of being teased by the school bus kids. Mother had a fit about it, especially when it would rain, but it was better to walk alone than have to deal with the mean kids. She really didn't understand. I tried to explain to her once about the greasers and socials at school, and how I wasn't fitting in, but she said it was better not to be in a clique anyway, and not to worry about what other kids said. I had a couple of nice girlfriends, so I was fitting in well enough, to her mind. I stopped telling her about it. I took to being more introspective, writing my daydreams in my diary, and reading books more, and had even stopped my cartwheels and twirling at the park because that creepy kid was taking to staring at me more and more.

I would go to the park at different times, just about sunset, but he tended to show up. If he happened to be there before I got to the park, I would just run back home before he could see me. One night, after I finished my dismount from the chinup bars, he tossed the cigarette down that he was smoking, crushed it under foot, and then with his arrogant smirk, jumped up to a bar to hook his legs over it and spin around to dismount with a cherry drop. He didn't hold the bar with his hands or under his knees like I would, and when he would land perfectly onto his feet, he cocked his head to the side, but never said a word. I was afraid to say anything to him, because I would probably insult him, and he would kill me, and so I said nothing.

He was handsome, and he obviously knew it. How could he not? He was showing off how his gymnastics was better than mine, how he was a greaser and I wasn't, and he wouldn't say anything because he was too good to say anything. So I stopped going to the park. He was never in the gang that my brothers hung out with, though.

I was afraid to mention the creepy kid to my brothers. Harry would either beat the kid up, or tell me how I shouldn't be at the park alone. David also loved to cherry drop, and would tell me that he was better at doing it than I was…I couldn't actually cherry drop because I was too scared to let go of the bar like that. If under mats in the gym, I would, but not when there was nothing but hard dirt underneath I didn't dare try. David mocked me, which is how I know the creepy kid was mocking me, too.

I saw the creepy kid at school. We had a couple of classes together. He sat in the back, and I sat up front…always. And he never said anything to anyone. Someone said it was because he thought he was better than everyone else, considering who his brothers were. Janet said she bet it was because he was shy, since she tried to flirt with him, and he only turned red, which she thought was adorable. I swear that Janet thinks every boy is adorable! It was confusing, though, at school he didn't seem creepy. He didn't even seem like he was a greaser. He kept to himself and kept his head down in class. He also ran in track. I tried to keep myself from sneaking looks back at him in the classes we had together, but sometimes I couldn't help it.

I asked Janet what his name was.

"Oh, that's Ponyboy!"

"Ponyboy?" surely I heard her wrong.

"Yeah! Isn't that an adorable name?" she sighed.

I wasn't sure about that.

"Is it "pony" as in a small horse?"

"Of course!" like it was the most normal thing in the world for a boy to be named after a horse.

"Okay, so what's his real name?" Surely it was a nickname.

"That is his real name, silly!" Janet laughed, delighted with my confusion. "He has a doll of a brother named Sodapop. You've probably seen him. He works at the DX near your house."

"Sodapop? And Ponyboy?" I sought for clarification. I must be hearing things, or else was in Wonderland without falling down the rabbit hole. Or maybe hit my head…?

"Yes! Sodapop and Ponyboy! They are probably the most dreamy boys in school, you know." Janet sighed as if she was thinking about handsome movie stars.

That's okay, I thought to myself, I'll dream of a Gregory Peck kind of guy while you dream of adorable bad boy greasers. They are just not my type.

Then Brenda came up to join us, my other friend at school. "Did I hear you talking about the Curtis brothers?" she asked.

"Yes!" Janet grinned at her. "Rebecca has noticed Ponyboy, and won't admit she finds him as adorable as the rest of us."

"I have not! Do not!" I protested.

"See?" Janet laughed.

I glared at her.

Brenda smiled. "It's okay, Rebecca. All the girls at this school think the Curtis brothers are good looking. And their friends, like bad boy Dallas Winston. I heard he is a good kisser!"

"You're joking!" Janet gasped, enjoying the scandal of contemplating kissing one of the bad boy greasers.

"I'll see you later," I told them, and walked away as fast as I could. I ignored Janet whispering to Brenda, "Did you see how pink her cheeks were? Someone has a crush…"

I closed my eyes and shook my head. It was no crush! He was a creepy and scary kid who unnerved me. Were there any actual nice boys at this school, or were all the boys angry and frustrated adolescents? Everyone seemed to be either a greaser or a social, and apparently they were so bored in life that they beat one another up. And the girls seemed to find the drama and gossip of it all exciting to talk about.

I was becoming more and more homesick for Waco everyday. I missed the country club with its pool and nice boys who caddy for their dad's friends and business partners, and would smile and buy me a coke after their tennis matches. Or invite me to church to share a pew with his parents, followed by a nice Sunday brunch afterwards. I missed the hats and white gloves proper Texas girls wore in public, and something I had to stop wearing since coming to Tulsa. No one had to say anything to me, either. No other girl here wore such things. My mother thought that was a relief to not have to always wear hat and gloves anymore. She hated such things. Instead, she has gone to wearing mostly pedal pusher pants, and smoking like everyone here does. She always smoked at home, but now she smoked everywhere, something that would be frowned on in Texas.

I knew I couldn't keep living like this. Everyone at home was happy except for me, and no one seemed to notice how miserable I was, or cared. I started calling my grandmother for advice, hoping she would maybe offer for me to come live with her in Waco instead. I could never bring myself to ask her outright.

Instead she mentioned one night, "You know, I always had this thought, before I got married, to travel to other places dressed as a man, so no one would bother me. A woman can't ever travel alone like that, and I was never brave enough. You have always been a spirited girl. I bet you would be braver than me and do that some day. No one notices boys or would bother a boy like they do women and girls. Your great-grandmother did such things you, realize? She would travel on the trains alone. So independent, like you! Scandalous to the family, delightfully entertaining gossip. It killed her, though. Spanish Flu from those Army boys on the trains she rode on. Maybe be careful if you travel on trains with Army boys , honeychild…"

Dress like a boy? I thought. I looked in the mirror. Even if I dressed in boy's clothes, there was no way I would ever be mistaken or seen as a boy. It was a bad idea.

I heard the radio playing in Harry's room, so I ventured over to knock softly on his door. Sometimes, if my brothers were in a charitable mood, they would let me into their room for a few minutes. Yet the mystery of boys, gangs, and greasers had still not been revealed to me. David answered Harry's door. Those two brothers were often inseperatable.

"Oh, hey, Becky," he said cheerfully. "What's up?"

I shrugged.

"Want to come in for a few?"

I nodded and stepped in. My brothers' rooms were mysterious sanctuaries where they kept the doors locked when they weren't home and were kept completely immaculate with hardly any evidence of personality aside from the pile of dirty clothes in one corner. Harry's room was decorated in earth tones, David's in shades of blue…my mother's influence. And she respected their privacy.

"Have a seat, if you want," Harry invited, indicating his bed. I sat on the edge. I wasn't allowed to be in the boys' rooms like this, but Jack and Mother weren't home, and Joey was sleeping in his crib.

"What are you doing?" I inquired.

"Just listening to the radio," Harry replied. "What's eating you?"

"How can I fit in here?"

The boys smiled secretly at each other. David chuckled while Harry said, "It's just not going to be possible, Becky."

"I am not a soc, am I?"

David was starting to turn red trying to keep from laughing at me out loud.

"Stop it, David," Harry told him. "She never has laughed at us. No, Becky, you aren't a soc."

"Are you sure I'm not?"

"Do you want to be a soc?"

"Glory! No! You'd guys hate me for sure if I were!"

David was struggling with his laughter again.

"I'm sorry, Becky," David choked. "Seriously. I am not meaning to laugh at you."

"But you are," I pointed out with a frown.

"I'm sorry…I just can't help it, you're just so darn…"

"David, take a walk, will ya? For god's sake, I've told you how you need to learn self-control."

David sobered up a little, but nodded and left to go outside.

"Why does he find me so humorous?" I inquired after David had left.

"Because you talk like that," Harry explained, now completely serious.

"Like what?"

"Like you are a walking textbook."

" I am not sure what you mean."

"And yet another reason," Harry said with a sigh.

After a moment's silence, I asked Harry, "Do you know the Curtis brothers?"

"Yeah, sure. Everyone knows them. Why do you ask?"

"Girls at school were talking about them today, how the brothers were named Sodapop and Ponyboy."

"Yeah? And?"

"Well, they have…unusual names, don't they?"

"Maybe. Why do you care?"

"I don't know," I sighed. "I have just seen Ponyboy around and I asked what his name was."

"Why the hell were you asking about Ponyboy's name?" Harry demanded.

I sat up straighter and tried not to look guilty.

"I just have seen him."

"Where?"

"At school. He's in two of my classes."

Harry seemed to relax. "Anywhere else?"

"Sometimes when you are with the gang. And at the park."

"The park? When do you see him at the park?"

"Well, not anymore, Harry! I don't go there anymore. Is he dangerous or something?"

Now it was Harry's turn to start in with uproarious laughter at my expense.

"Pony? Dangerous? Nah. He's a shy kid. He's just Darrel Curtis' kid brother, is all. He's not one of the gang, if you are wondering. Ever talk to him?"

My eyes grew wide.

"No! He's creepy! He just stares at me…"

Harry started laughing again.

"Creepy? He's just shy, Becky. Did you ever just try saying hello?"

"No."

"So you were being a snob, is that it?"

I felt my face grow hot again. "No."

"Look, kid, everyone in this neighborhood knows you're my sister, so no one is going to mess with you. Stop thinking how you are better than everyone else and try saying hello once in awhile."

"I don't think I am better than anyone else," I protested.

"You do, and you are. But that's no reason to be a snob, is it?"

"I don't mean to be a snob, Harry," I said, completely ashamed of myself. "Is that why everyone hates me?"

"No one hates you, Beck. And I know you don't mean to be a snob…you just naturally are because of where you come from. I explained it to the gang; no one is holding it against you. So why not just try being nice and friendly for once?" Harry suggested.

"How do I do that?"

"It's very simple, Becky. You just smile a little and say, "Hi." Why would you find that so difficult?"

"Because your friends are scary? Because they get into fights, get drunk…"

"So do David and I. Do you find us scary?"

"No."

"People are people, Becky. Greasers have reasons for being as they are. Maybe you should find out why? Just a suggestion."

I thought about that for a moment.

"Harry?"

"Yeah, kid."

"Should I dress differently?"

He squinted his eyes at me.

"Hard to say. You do dress differently from most of the girls in this neighborhood, but that may not be a bad thing. I mean, I wouldn't want you looking like Carol or Angela or Evie."

"Do greaser girls get into fights?"

"Sometimes," Harry agreed truthfully.

"I've never been in a fight, Harry."

"Give David a chance!" Harry laughed. "He doesn't care who it is. He starts fights with everyone. 'Course, Dad would kill him if he hit you…"

I considered that implication, knowing it was true, his whole statement about David fighting.

"I hate being different, Harry," I admitted to him.

"I know, kid. No one likes to feel like an outsider. You're just going to have to find your own way to deal with it. Start off slow, like just saying hello or something like that. And make more cookies," he said with a grin.

"What kind do you want?" I asked him, smiling back.

"Whatever you feel like making, sis. They all taste good."

"Thanks, Harry."

"No problem. Do me a favor, though, will ya?"

"Sure."

"If Mom and Dad find out we are gone in the middle of the night, don't tell them we are with the gang, okay?"

"Yeah, I know."

"And you probably don't have to worry about this, but be careful when walking alone, okay? I don't think the socs will mess with you, but there has been some talk about them venturing into our turf…"

I rolled my eyes.

Harry noticed.

"What?"

"Turf?" I scoffed, still having images of wild coyotes cropping up in my imagination. Wild dogs wearing leather jackets, t-shirts, and dark glasses smoking cigarettes as they urinated on vacant lots and fighting rival dog packs for territory, howling at the sky at the sight of blood.

"What about it?"

"Nothing. Just sounds like a funny word to me."

"It refers to our neighborhood, Rebecca. Think about it…why would rich kids need to be driving into the East Side ghetto?"

I thought about it, frowning as I did so.

"Yeah. I think you'll get my meaning. Now, will ya make us some cookies?"

He smiled with genuine anticipation.

I smiled back.

"Yeah, sure."

There was so much to think about while I automatically gathered and mixed ingredients in the kitchen for the cookies. Boys, weird names, being a snob, saying hello, and rich kids driving around the Eastside? I wondered: Who was I now? What was I now? Should it be "while in Rome?" How could I do that? I thought about Carol with her gap between her teeth, her heavy make-up, and too tight, too short skirts, making out in the alleyways and the vacant lot, smoking, and laughing too loud. And I shivered, praying this wasn't my fate as well.

How was I supposed to learn why greasers were the way they were, anyways?


	4. Chapter 4

_I apologize for the delay of years to this next chapter. Thank you for your patience. My life got crazy hectic in my junior and senior years of college. Our two oldest children graduated high school, and we experienced the loss of a baby and a little girl in our lives among the deaths of other family members. Life happens. :) I have been saving this chapter for all those years, and I hope it was worth waiting for. There is a shorter fifth chapter I wrote tonight.  
_

"Rebecca!"

Mother was yelling for me from downstairs.

"What?!"

"Take out the garbage!"

I walked to the top of the stairs and looked down where she was standing at the bottom yelling up at me. I wondered where her rule of walking to the person instead of yelling from another room in the house disappeared to.

"Taking out the garbage isn't my chore," I reminded her, "It's David's."

"David isn't here, and the garbage collection is tomorrow. Stop arguing with me and take it out!"

I sighed dramatically. My stepbrothers were gone more and more and who was stuck doing all their chores? Yep, me. I was so sick of covering for them!

I gathered up all the little wastebaskets my mother insisted every room had, from the two bathrooms, the bedrooms, living room, kitchen...where did all this Kleenex come from? Mother insisted every room had a box of Kleenex...it seemed to be the feathery light bulk of the trash of what looked like unused Kleenex...and put them together in a line like little toy soldiers to dump the contents into the larger city waste can.

I stopped after dumping the first can of little white pieces of fluff...inside the trash can was a black leather jacket. Standing on tiptoe, I reached in and pulled it out. By the size of it, it must have been David's...the little frayed spot on one of the cuffs confirmed it. Why did he throw it away? I stashed it in the bushes, thinking to ask him later as mother called for me to hurry up.

After Jack came home, Mother said they were going to be in the bedroom all night so they were not to be disturbed. I made dinner, but my stepbrothers were again absent, so I just wrapped everything up in cellophane and placed it into the ice box. My homework was done, and even though it was dark out, I wasn't tired enough to go to bed. As I contemplated what to do, I heard loud raucous laughter outside; Harry and David were home. Remembering the leather jacket stashed in the bushes, I went out the back door to retrieve it and circled around to the front. Harry and David were standing in the halo of the street lamp, finishing up their cigarettes before going inside. I had folded up the jacket with reverence to give to David, thinking it being placed in the trash had to have been a mistake, but when I got closer I saw David wearing a new jacket with a silver buckle and shiny silver zippers.

I stared dumbly at the discarded jacket in my hands.

"Oh," I said softly. "I didn't know you got a new one. I found this one in the trash..." my voice sounded weak. Internally, I cringed, hating myself for it.

"Yeah," David grinned. "That one was too small, and Dad bought me this one. Don't tell your mom, though."

"Why'd you throw it in the trash, though?" I wondered out loud, not thinking before I said anything. It was a perfectly good jacket, aside from the flaw on the cuff.

"Try it on, Becky," Harry suggested. "You're not that much smaller than David."

"I am not small!" David protested loudly, his face turning red.

"Can it, David," Harry ordered him mildly, used to his hot tempered younger brother. "Don't worry, you should hit a growth spurt soon enough. Go on, Becky."

Shyly I slipped on the sleeves while David muttered hotly, "I threw it away for a reason!"

While David glared angrily, Harry nodded with approval.

"Looks good, little sister. Stick your arms out, let's see if the sleeves are long enough."

I obeyed silently. Harry held onto his cigarette with his lips while held my wrists in his hands, carefully looking at how the cuffs covered my wrists just below my palms.

"Perfect!" was his final assessment. "Keep it; it's yours, if you want it."

"Sure!" I smiled.

David rolled his eyes.

"Great, just great," David's contempt dripped with sarcasm. "Now I have to see my old favorite jacket being worn by my kid sister? You can't make her into a Greaser, Harry, so stop encouraging her!"

David threw down his half-smoked butt and stalked into the house, slamming the door behind him. I wondered briefly if Mom would come out long enough to yell at him for it or not.

"I can't wear it if it upsets David for me to," I said softly, feeling bad. To the guys, leather jackets were a special status; they were pretty expensive to buy sometimes. I wasn't sure how Jack afforded it, but he seemed to be able to find ways to come up with such things for his sons.

"David doesn't care," Harry assured me. "He likes you, he just doesn't know how to show it. Wear the jacket; it looks good."

Harry winked at me, crushed out the end of his cigarette with his heel, and followed David into the house, the door shutting silently behind him.

I was left standing alone in the halo of the streetlight. I looked up at the lamp. At least we had one on our side of the street that actually worked. Sometimes we had the only working light in the neighborhood. The city didn't come to fix them very often.

Not really thinking about what I was doing, I walked across the street to the park. I didn't have any thoughts, really. I just needed to walk. As I walked I looked down at myself: black and white Oxfords on my feet with white bobby socks, white canvas skirt with yellow butterfly patches, yellow cotton peasant blouse, my arms covered by the sleeves of the black leather jacket, with the frayed right cuff. I put my right arm up to my nose to smell the scent of the well-worn and slightly cracked leather. It was tainted with traces of cigarette smoke and Old Spice that David wore sometimes.

Girls didn't wear their own black leather jackets, not even Greaser girls, unless it was a boyfriend's they were going steady with, which usually came with a ring worn on a necklace because a man's ring was too big for a girls' delicate finger. And I doubted that black leather Greaser jackets were ever worn with homemade skirts and blouses like mine was that I had made in Home Economics.

It was now late September, and there was a cool autumn breeze starting to develop. We had been lucky so far with a mild autumn, with some but not a lot of rain. The elderly couple next door said that last October had been the warmest they had ever known, and even though it was still tornado season, the worst ones were said to come through in May, and the last "killer tornadoes" were 3 years ago. I still dreaded hearing a wailing siren go off in the middle of the night for a tornado warning, which I could almost forget about the possibility of it if there wasn't a testing once a week at noon every week.

I thought back to the conversation I had with my grandmother, her voice coming back to my memory often as if she was deliberately haunting me, the suggestion to dress up like a boy as a way to blend in and be safe. Ridiculous idea! And yet it was hard not to wonder about it...

Why in the world was I walking around alone after dark?

I stopped and froze when I crested the little hill that divided our side of the park across the street from the other side where the gangs all seemed to hang out. Over by the jungle gym was that creepy boy again...no, the "shy kid"according to Harry...Ponyboy Curtis. And he wasn't alone this time. A small black haired boy, still bigger than me, swiveled his head my direction, his long greasy black hair falling into his eyes, which he didn't bother to push away. Ponyboy's eyes squinted as he glared in my direction, as he blew out a lot of smoke from his cigarette. I apparently interrupted something. I stood shock still while they glared at me, also not moving, as if they were daring me to say or do something.

I tried to remember what Harry had told me. I tried to smile, but they only seemed to get more tense. Okay, guys, I thought, I know where I am not wanted. I turned and bolted back for my house, and didn't stop running until I was back inside the house, locking the door behind me, and running back up the stairs, to shut the door to my room. Even when in my room with door shut, I stood there looking at the closed door while I shook. I suddenly realized that my curtains and window were opened, so I yanked the window and drapes closed, and turned on the extra lights. I yanked the jacket off and threw it towards the back of my closet, and then slammed the closet door shut. I grabbed my teddy bear I had had since I was a baby, and hugging it close to my chest, I sat on the bed up against the wall.

I told myself I was a chicken. I also told myself I didn't care.

Mother let me stay home from school the next morning, since I pleaded I had a headache. She kept the house quiet so I could rest after giving me some aspirin. I couldn't fall asleep all night, so I slept most of the day away, and only got up when I was sure school was safely out.

I took a long hot shower, and then stood in front of my closet with my body and hair wrapped up in towels. I suddenly hated every garment in my closet. Biting back tears, I yanked a bathrobe off a hanger and pulled the towel from my hair. I looked in the mirror. I tried not to cry as I realized that I didn't belong here, I didn't fit in, I was an outsider. I sat on the edge of my bed and sobbed silently.

I was startled out of my self-pity and misery when I heard the doorbell ring.

A girl's voice said my name, asking how I was? Since I wasn't at school...

Darn it! It was Janet!

I listened in horrified silence as my mother's muffled voice explained I had a headache, and then invited Janet in to come and check on me, since she had heard the shower and knew I was up.

I took the damp towel I had used for my hair and furiously tried to scrub the tear marks from my face as Janet knocked on the door, and then stepped in.

"Hey, Rebecca, it's Janet. Are you okay?"

I tried to look nonchalant.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Come on in."

She stepped in, took one look at me with a frown, and then shut the door.

"I was worried when you didn't come to school. Are you sick?"

"Headache," I confirmed, nodding slowly.

"Have you been crying?"

"No," oops, I said that too fast. And Janet was too sharp; she noticed.

"Yes, you have been," she smiled knowingly. "It's okay. Monthly curse?"

I considered it for a moment to affirm that, but then sighed and admitted, "No."

A small crease of worry touched her face, and she led me to sit on the bed.

"What then?"

I sighed again.

"I hate my wardrobe!" I blurted it. What a stupid reason to cry! I didn't blame her for laughing.

"Oh, is that all! I wondering when you would realize that Tulsa wasn't Texas. I can help. Come to my house. I have been wanting to update your look. Put on some clothes."

"I've been in bed all day. Mother won't let me go to a friend's house if I have been home sick from school," something about the gleam in Janet's eyes worried me.

She laughed lightly.

"I'll convince her. I am good at making parents do what I want them to."

"I don't know what to wear," I was trying to stall. I don't think I wanted Janet to re-create the new me.

"Let me see..." Janet's head disappeared into my closet. "Oh! Where did you get this!"

She had found the black jacket.

"It was David's."

"Does it fit?!"

"Yeah," my voice was dulled.

"Oh, you are so lucky to have such cute older brothers! They are stepbrothers, right, no relation?"

"How many times have I told you that I am not blood related, only by marriage?"

She came out of the closet with the jacket, her blue eyes rimmed with black kohl gleaming with wicked glee.

"So you and David are...?"

"Glory! No! Eww, Janet!"

"So it is a secret love affair."

I groaned and threw myself backwards on the bed.

"Fine, keep it a secret then!" she pouted and focused back on my closet.

"You're right, there is nothing appropriate in here," she said after a moment. "Stay here, I'll be right back. I am sure your mom has clothes you can borrow."

"What?! No, Janet, don't ask my mom..." but she was out of the room and on her way downstairs.

I contemplated climbing back into bed and prayed I could just die in my sleep.

"Here we are!" Janet said way too cheerily. She was holding one of my mom's mini-dresses she had started to wear. This one was a color that couldn't decide if it was red or brown. "Your mom was more than happy to let you borrow this until we can find you clothes so you can fit in better. It's Friday, so you can have dinner and sleep over at my house!"

"Janet, I have a headache. I don't think I feel up to a sleepover..."

"Pshaw. You are just making excuses. Now get dressed!"

I wanted to punch her in the face.

Instead, went to stand behind my dressing screen to put on...ick...my mom's dress. Despite it had been washed, it still had the faint scent of Emeraude perfume I associated with my mother lingering in the scratchy fabric.

"What are you doing? Don't be so modest!" Janet giggled.

"Nevermind, Janet, I don't want to do this."

"So you want to keep dressing like "happy homemaker?" Your mom has more taste than you, do you realize that? It's sad."

"This garment," I said, shaking the material at her, starting to get mad, "is maybe all of a yard of fabric! This dress is what is immodest!"

"Well, my house is located on Shepard's Turf, and I have to walk by his house, and I don't want you walking by with me in your home ec clothes! Which is why I have never invited you before. Come on, Rebecca! Pretty please? Just give me a chance? Just for one night?"

"Fine!" I conceded, "But I am wearing a sweater!"

"Wear the jacket instead!"

"No!" I yanked it out of her hands, "This stays here!"

My words were final, and I guess she knew it because she didn't protest further. I tossed it back into the dark corner of the closet, and slammed the door shut. I glared at her, daring her to say something. She wisely chose to stay silent, even though she was grinning at me.

Walking with Janet my dark and depressed mood lifted. She caught me up on the gossip at school, not that I cared or knew everyone, but her chatter helped me to take a break from my thoughts. It was a sunny day, though that cool taint of autumn was in the air, making everything smell fresh. The leaves on the trees were starting to turn colors, and brown ones already fallen blew on the streets. I was glad I had worn a sweater, a beige cable knit sweater with big wooden buttons that had long sleeves and hung down to my knees. I had my toothbrush and pajamas in an oversize style purse.

We didn't go through the park, but walked around it, and then crossed the street to cut through an alley way to Janet's house. I had never walked to her house; my mother usually had Jack drive me home from her house. I had only been there a couple of times after school when the bus dropped us off.

"I don't know why you want to hide the shape of your body," Janet was saying. "You could get the boys to look at you more than once if you wore clothes more like I do."

I just shrugged. I don't think I would want to attract more attention to myself, especially from Greaser boys.

"It's good your hair is long. Boys like long hair...but those curls need to go. First thing I am going to do is iron out your hair."

"You ain't touching my hair, Janet," I told her.

I started slightly at the words I heard myself use. If I wasn't careful, I was going to end up being tainted by the riff raff. Grandmother warned me about such things, how one bad apple can spoil the barrel. This neighborhood was starting to show me what she meant by that.

"Yes, I am!" Janet insisted. "It needs to be straighter, and I will trim it a little shorter. It is almost too long."

"You ain't touching my hair!"

"Fine," she pouted. "Can I do your make-up?"

"Make-up?! I thought I was coming over for clothes!"

"You are! But you need make-up, too! Oh, come on! It's just for one night, remember?"

I sighed. How bad could one night be? So I will let Janet have her fun, and then I will figure out how I would re-create myself for this new life.

My consent had Janet back in her cheerful mood where she actually started skipping.

I hesitated for a moment as we exited from the alleyway onto her street. The Shepard Gang was hanging out. I knew Janet lived on the same street, but every time I had gone to Janet's house they were absent so I never really gave it much thought. I also chided myself that my brother's were part of the gang, and how many times had I walked up to them to tell my brothers to go home? Why was I nervous? Maybe because I was suddenly aware of how exposed my legs were...

"Come on, chicken," Janet smiled. "They don't bite...much!"

Harry said to smile. Smile, Rebecca! Smile! Be friendly. Say hi!

Glory! Could I just go home and die now?

I smiled as best as I could, but tried to not make eye contact. Janet grabbed my hand and pulled me towards her house. Angela Shepard was lounging on her steps.

"Took you long enough, Janet," Angela's voice was tough but had a softer element to it, one I couldn't describe. "I've been waiting for hours."

"Sorry," Janet said blithely, even as I wondered why Angela would wait at all, much less "for hours."

"Angela, you know Rebecca, right?"  
Angela tossed her dark hair back and looked sideways at me.

"Yeah. Harry's little sister," her smile was sort of predatory. I had never seen her so close before. I think I hated her, even though she was actually very pretty.

"She's staying the night, too! A slumber party," Janet giggled. "We get to make her up."

"Really?" Angela's eyes brightened.

"Do you have any clothes to donate to a charity case?" Janet asked with a smile, loving her new role in our friendship. "We can make her one of us!"

"Umm...I'll be right back. I think I have a few things."  
And then she smiled at me. Actually smiled at me!

Great! So I was a "charity case" now? The goal: make me into a new Greaser Girl. I could feel an anger starting to boil in me so hot it felt cold, and so intense I had no way of knowing how to acknowledge or express it. I felt my face go blank of expression.

Janet, the dummy, said it in front of the guys in Shepard's Gang who were still hanging out. I knew they were laughing at me, and for the first time I didn't feel embarrassed. Where were David and Harry, anyway? Weren't they part of the gang?

"Can we go inside?" I asked Janet.

"Yeah, come on!" she said brightly, grabbing my hand and pulling me where she wanted me to go again, and she didn't notice the change in my mood. "Let's get started right away!"

I let Janet and Angela treat me like a doll. I decided as long as they didn't hurt me I would let them have their fun. This one night, and one night only. They brushed out my hair straight, but I wouldn't let them iron or cut it. They had me try on one tight and short outfit after another. They settled on a miniskirt that had been made out of cut off jean shorts with a green boys' t-shirt they had cut the neck out of and cut off the sleeves so it hung off of one shoulder showing the bra strap. They had me change out of my own brassiere into one of Angela's black ones. I felt like a harlot. I was definitely going to go to church on Sunday and pray for understanding and forgiveness. I resisted the urge to speak the Lord's Prayer out-loud; I bit my tongue.

Then they did my make up with black kohl liquid eyeliner around the eyes, adding some rouge to my cheeks, and bright pink lipstick.

They declared me "perfect!" And then took me outside to show me off the the gang still waiting around outside. Apparently news had traveled fast through the neighborhood and everyone wanted to see the "new me."

Janet had me step onto the porch and said, "Ta da!"

Everyone started laughing. For the first time I was smiling for real and laughing, too. I was realizing how ridiculous the whole thing was, and how not only was I not "one of them" and never would be, nor did I want to be.

I did as Janet and Angela directed, twirling, pouting, and being their little puppet acting upon their direction and cue. I could play the good little puppy just this once, and only this once.

A boy from the gang broke away from the crowd and asked me to dance with him, and Janet pushed me toward him so hard I fell onto his chest. He twirled me around once, and then passed me off to the guys behind him. They were actually being nice, their smiles were genuine, but there was another dangerous element that hinted they wanted and expected more from me...and soon.

But I was Harry's little sister, and I suddenly understood what that meant.

I tossed my hair back, and lifted my chin. I smiled as flirtatiously and as suggestively as I could because I saw Harry and David running towards us. My brothers had arrived. My grin widened.

David was faster than Harry and skidded up towards me.

"What the...Becky?" his shock was replaced with a grin, "Wow, Becky!"

I laughed.

Harry's reaction was different. He didn't stop in his stride, a long-legged lope more than a run, and scooped me up in his arms, taking me around the house into the shadows. He set me down gently.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked, concerned.

I laughed, "Oh, Harry! This is definitely not me!"

He didn't even smile.

"No, it's not. I know you want to fit in, but..." he shook his head. "Whose idea was this? Was it yours?"

"Not mine! Dummy Janet over there convinced mom to let me sleep over, and had already planned for Angela to be there."

Harry rubbed a hand over his face.

"I should take you home."

"Don't you dare, Harrison Reed! You already showed brotherly protection by scooping me up and lecturing me. I'll get myself out of this mess, not you."

He looked at me closer. Maybe he sensed the change in me I had yet to completely identify.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! I'm stronger than I look, and there is no way I am going to let Janet and Angela get away with mocking me or making me into some trashy Greaser girl. I'll find my own way to fit in."

"Now, Becky, I don't know what you have planned, but be careful, okay?"

"Don't worry, big brother, I ain't going to damage your reputation."

"You just said "ain't," didn't you?"

"Don't look so shocked, Harry. Now stop protecting me and let me fight my own battles."

"Well, alright," his voice took on some of the old Texan drawl, "but you let me know if you need me to step in and help, okay?"

"Sure!" I smiled up at him. "You know what? I think I am really angry."

Harry smiled back.

"I don't blame ya. I just hope you ain't in over your head."

"Me, too!" and I meant it.

Harry let me go back into the yard first, but followed close behind. He announced, "Okay, everyone, shows over...no more gawking at my little sis."

Summoning as much of the snobby and arrogant air of nobility as I could, pretending I was ascending the stairs to a glamorous ball in an expensive gown fit for a princess instead of being in Greaser clothes and stepping onto disintegrating wooden steps to a porch falling apart, I went back inside Janet's house and went to the chair to retrieve my sweater. I kicked off the ridiculous heels and put back on my beige and sensible flats, and then grabbed my purse. I stuffed my mother's dress into my over-sized purse, and forced my arms through the sleeves of the sweater harder than was necessary.

Janet came in, her grin evaporating into another emotion as she watched me getting read to leave.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going home."

"No, you ain't. You are to sleep over, remember? Let me create the new you."

I slipped into my grandmother's teachings of acting the Southern Belle.

"Janet, dear. Thank you for such a lovely time," my voice was a mixture of tight anger, sarcasm, and honeyed Texan sweetness. I forced my mouth into a broad smile. "But I am afraid that the life and style of a tramp is more fitting for you than it is for me. I mean, it fits YOU sooo well, darling! I just can't pull it off as nicely as you do. I thank you for your...ahem...hospitality. I must be going now. Tata."

Janet stood there in white-faced shock as I glided around her in the doorway.

"Wait...did you just call me a "tramp?!" Janet finally burst out, unbelieving.

I exaggerated my pause as I pretended to think about it.

"Is that what I said? Hmm...I don't remember. Oh, well! Goodbye then."

I turned to leave, but I was stopped by some inhuman, wordless scream as Janet jumped on me and started pounding with her fists on my back and pulling my hair. I was shocked by her violent reaction to my insult, but I was even more taken aback by my own reaction as I managed to grab a fistful of her hair with my right hand, and then yanked her over my shoulder to get her off my back. I held onto my own hair with my left hand to keep her from yanking it out further as it was pulled out of her hands as she fell. She hit the ground hard onto her bottom, and then with a sob came at me with her long fingernails out as if to scratch my face like an alley cat. Instead, I stepped aside and punched her in the stomach. As she once again fell onto her bottom, I punched her in the face.

She didn't try to get up, but instead sobbed with her hands over her face hidden by her disheveled dark hair, mussed by the fight. She called me every dirty name I think she knew, maybe making up some new ones.

I felt sorry for her at that point, knowing that what I had said in anger hit too close to home for her, revealing what every woman fears to be, and the realization that that may be the type of woman she would ever be allowed to be. And I never could.

I silently walked out of the house, smoothing the lingering stinging hurt of my head where she had pulled my hair, feeling where she had hit me on the back, marveling at even though I had never been involved in violence, I had just won my first fight.

Outside, it seemed no one had heard our fight. The gang hung together, continuing with their harsh voices and laughter, a fog of cigarette smoke concealing their faces in the dark.

Harry stepped away for a moment, a questioning look on his face. I met his eyes, having no idea what the expression on my face was nor did I have any thought to convey to him. We just stared at each other for a moment, and whatever he saw, a small smile touched his lips, and he nodded, flicking his eyes in the direction of home, which I took to mean that I should go home now...which was exactly what I planned to do. Harry returned his focus to the gang.

I wrapped the warm sweater around myself tighter, and turned to walk into the shadows cast between the houses as I followed the shadows to the street behind Janet's house, through the next block, and then crossed the street to go through the park.


	5. Chapter 5

As the chin-up bars came into my view, I gave a little sob as I started to sprint. I dropped my purse onto the ground as I reached the bars, jumping towards the one in the middle, pulling myself up and over. I twirled as fast as I could, letting the speed of the circles take the thoughts and feelings away. I then tried to flip my legs through my arms, and they did manage to grab the bar just long enough for me to let go...but the angle had been wrong, and the speed out of control. I felt myself drop like a rock onto the hard ground, my legs collapsing, hurting my knees, and then dumping me flat and hard onto my bottom like I had dropped Janet with a punch. It hurt, and I put my hands over my face as I started to cry.

"Glory! Are you alright?"

I was startled by the voice, which caused my tears to stop instantly.

I looked up to encounter the concerned gaze of Ponyboy, and I was instantly embarrassed.

"That was a bad fall. Are you hurt?" he tried again when I didn't say anything.

I shook my head no, suddenly unable to find my voice.

"Are you sure?" Ponyboy appeared doubtful. "Can you stand up?"

I allowed him to help me to my feet, my mouth and throat suddenly dry.

We both looked at the slightly bloody scratches of my skinned knees where they had landed in the gravel, and we both were embarrassed to realize that my legs were bare.

"Sorry," he mumbled as he looked away. "I was just checking to see if you were hurt."

"I'm okay," I finally managed to say. "Thanks for your help."

I nervously brushed my hands over my knees, trying to rub away the dirt.

He nodded, and then looked back behind his shoulder like he had the urge to run away and escape back home.

I waited. He didn't move.

Awkwardly, we both stood there silently, neither of us looking at the other, both of us waiting to see what the other of us would do next.

Ponyboy shifted uncomfortably. He scratched one of his ears, and then was still for a moment, as if he was thinking about something.

Finally, he tilted his head to look at me, curious.

"What are you doing out here?"

"What?" suddenly I was confused.

He ran a hand through his hair as he looked around the park and the neighborhood, as if suspicious. I wondered if he was guilty of something. Talk about being suspicious, I chided myself.

"Do you want me to walk you home?" he asked, nervous. Even as he asked, he looked around as if praying someone would rescue him from the task.

"You don't have to," I answered him softly.

Something in his expression changed as I spoke and he looked at me.

"No," he decided. "I do. You're hurt, and it isn't right for you to be walking alone in the dark. I'll make sure you get home alright."

I wanted to get angry, but I stood there struck dumb as he picked up the handle of my purse, and then gestured me to follow.

Not knowing what else to do, I followed his lead.

The only sound was our feet shuffling on the grass blades for awhile. Finally, I told him, "You don't have to do this, you know? I am perfectly able to walk home on my own."

His lips quirked as if to suggest a smile. He just shook his head but didn't say anything, focused on playing the hero, I guessed.

I crossed my arms in front of me, silently resentful for the moment. Suddenly, I stopped, planted my feet firmly in the grass, and called out to him, "Ponyboy Curtis!"

He stopped to stare at me, surprised.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"We haven't been properly introduced. No boy is walking me home without first a proper introduction," I stated to him firmly.

His eyes lit up in wonderment, and his lips formed a curious smile.

"Alright," he agreed.

He dropped my purse onto the ground, shook his head as he stood up straighter, and then offered me his hand.

"Hello," he said politely, as politely as any nice boy from church or the country club would have, "My name is Ponyboy Curtis."

With a toss of my head, I daintily took his hand as a nice Southern Belle would, and answered with all the Texan charm I could muster, "Nice to meet you, Mr. Curtis. My name is Miss Rebecca Easter. How do you do?" I released his hand.

Ponyboy just kind of stood there and smiled at me.

"Where are you from?" he finally asked me. "Texas, right?"

Suddenly shy, I dropped my eyes to look at the ground as I nodded. "Waco."

He picked up my purse again, and gestured me to follow him again.

"Is it different there?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"It must be hard to move to a new place."

I quietly nodded.

The look he gave me was not unkind.

"What do you like to do?" his voice faltered and stammered a bit.

I shrugged.

"I guess mostly read and write," I admitted, knowing it was considered weird to do so. "In Texas, I would go to gymnastics class or go to the country club to swim and play tennis."

I bit my bottom lip feeling tears starting to form again from feeling nostalgic.

He stopped to blink at me.

"What happened that you moved here?" he asked, his voice sounding like he was genuinely interested.

I blinked back tears as I confessed, "My father died. We had no money, and my mother remarried. My stepfather was transferred here."

The conversation was quiet between us for a moment when Ponyboy softly spoke.

"I'm sorry. My dad died, too. And my mom."

"Oh!" I stopped my gasp of surprise. For someone to lose both their mother and father! Suddenly, I didn't feel right feeling sorry for myself any longer. "I am so sorry. I didn't know."

Ponyboy gave me a sad smile.

"Thanks. Come on; let's get you home."

We didn't talk again the rest of the way home, but something had changed between us after that. We found something we had in common, and I no longer saw him as creepy. He was a perfect gentleman as he had walked me home, and had all the qualities of a "nice boy" - even if he was shy and quiet, wore torn up jeans, smoked cigarettes, and wore his hair long and greasy. Under the street light at my house, he silently handed me my bulky bag of sleepover supplies. I met his eyes and realized that they were green, not much different from my own. It startled me a little, but then I smiled at him. He smiled back, and then gave me a little nod as he turned to walk away.

I turned to go inside, but looked back at him to see him breathe in the night air, pull out a cigarette...and then reconsidered. He placed the white stick back into his pocket, and then sprinted off across the park towards his house.

My mother didn't say anything to me she stood sleepily at the bottom of the stairs as I quietly walked into the house. I gave her a little smile, and mumbled something about how things didn't work out with Janet, and felt her eyes following me as I went into my bedroom and closed the door.

I took another hot shower to wash off the dirt and make-up that Janet and Angela had put on me. I didn't even bother to look in the mirror before I cleaned up, not wanting to see how much of a mess I was. I applied first aid to the scratches on my knees, and then put on the softest flannel nightgown I owned.

I held my teddy bear against my chest, the small desk lamp the only illumination in the room. As I sat there in the near darkness, I replayed the events of the night in my head, knowing I should write them down in my diary, but I didn't. Not yet.

I had made a connection with Ponyboy Curtis that night I didn't understand. I don't think I would ever be able to understand it. But there was something about it that made me feel less alone.

I then pulled out my diary from the box I hid under the bed, and slumping back against the pillows I started to write something different from my usual "Dear Diary."

Instead I wrote, "Dear Ponyboy," and it started a series of letters of conversations and thoughts I dreamed about sharing with Ponyboy...but I never would.

_Author's Note: As I mentioned in my profile, much of what I am writing about comes from true events in my own life. Like Rebecca, I lost my father, to divorce, however, and not death...however, the divorce changed my parents so much they were never the same afterwards. Nor was I. My mother's family is originally from Waco, Texas. I was originally born and raised in the Los Angeles area, where, like Rebecca, we lived very comfortably. My mother married a lumber mill worker, and I do have two stepbrothers from "the wrong side of town" and a little baby brother named Joesph. The conversations between Rebecca and her stepbrothers are taken from real life. My stepbrothers did belong to a gang when we were in junior high. My stepbrother was arrested for being drunk on the bus. I did have a friend like Janet who tried to "make me over" to get me to fit in. It was in this time that I first read The Outsiders. I read the book over and over, about 20 times while sick in bed when I was 13. I memorized the book. And after reading it, my diary did become "Dear Ponyboy" just like Anne Frank wrote "Dear Kitty." I still dream of myself in the story of The Outsiders when I sleep, even though I am much older now. It just was a significant time in my life, those early years of being 13 and 14. Thank you for reading. More stories to come. based on those dreams. _


	6. Chapter 6

I sang along with "You Don't Own Me" on the radio as I cleaned out my closet, throwing the clothes on my bed until the closet was empty, and then picking through the outfits.

When I had gotten home the night before, I think my parents knew something had happened. Mother didn't say anything as she drew a hot bath for me while I wrote in my diary, and didn't bother me while I soaked in the perfumed water, letting me think. When I had gotten out, she had made me some soup and hot tea, and wrapped me in a blanket on the sofa. Jack had come down, and gently ran his hand down my damp curls. No one made me go to bed, even after they had settled back down Baby Joey and gone to sleep sometime around 3am. I stayed up until I saw the early morning light filtering through the window, and then I went upstairs to fall asleep.

"Me and you, and you and me, no matter how you cut the dice, it's meant to be," I hummed along with the next song playing. The only thing I had decided so far was that I needed to change, I just wasn't sure about who the "new me" was going to be like.

I looked out the window when there was a knock at the door. It looked like some maintenance man. There was an old truck parked on the side street with a ladder in it and other construction materials.

"Mom, there's someone at the door!" I announced from the top of the stairs.

"Yes, dear. Would you get it? I have my hands in dish water."

I ran down the stairs and flung the door open, startling the guy standing there in blue jeans and a white t-shirt, holding a clip board.

"Hi. Miss Reed?" his voice was politely uncertain.

I shook my head, but gave him a friendly smile.

"No, I'm Miss Easter. Mrs. Reed is my mother."

"Oh. Is she here?"

"Yes. Who is calling, please?"

"I'm Darrell Curtis. Jack asked me to check the roof for leaks?"

I invited him in, but told him to wait at the door for a moment while I got my mother.

"Hey, mom…he says Jack told him to come and check the roof?"

She nodded. Joey was crying, so she finished drying her hands and picked up the baby.

"It's fine, Becky. Just offer him a glass of lemonade, and let him know he can get to work."

I shrugged, but did what she asked, getting out a glass and pouring some lemonade into it. Darrell Curtis accepted it; he was very polite, and I watched him as he drank the glass. There was something familiar about him, but I couldn't figure out why.

"What's your name?" he asked as he handed me back the glass.

"Rebecca."

"You have older brothers?"

I nodded.

"Nice to meet you. I'll get to work, then."

He tipped an imaginary hat to me, and then walked out to his truck. I watched him get the ladder and bring it over to the house. As I heard the ladder hit the side of the house, I realized what he said his name was: Curtis. Could he be related to Ponyboy? I wondered.

He was what Daddy called a "blue collar worker." He told me to not trust those type of men, and that I was never to date one. Before I could dwell anymore on the thought, the phone rang, and mother hollered at me to get it.


	7. Chapter 7

I answered the phone.

"Hello? Oh! Hi, Grandmother!"

Grandmother Easter was my dad's mom. She was calling to check on me. I guess Mother had called her about what happened last night, and she was trying to get me to tell her what had happened. She was worried that a boy had violated me. She chuckled when I told her about the fight with Janet. I explained to her about how hard it was to fit in, and what my plan was. Grandfather got on the phone, picking up their second connection, and he commented something about "When in Rome, do what the Romans do." Grandmother agreed, but also warned me not to fall into the trap of "being affected by the bad apples." Grandfather assured me that they knew I was a smart, good girl, and how they trusted me to do the right thing. I rolled my eyes as my grandmother told me to remember to go to church to find a "nice boy." I explained I hadn't found a new church since we moved, and she tsked at me in disapproval.

My grandparents then asked to talk to my mom, so I handed her the phone, and continued with my task of sorting through my wardrobe. When Mother hung up, she called me back to the stairs. I quickly agreed to go shopping for new clothes with her. Jack was home by the time we left, so we could leave Baby Joey at home. I glanced up at Darrell Curtis, who standing halfway up on the ladder, chatting with Jack about the roof…things I didn't understand nor cared to.

Mother took me to have lunch with a milkshake at the drugstore, and then took me on a tour of the shopping stores. As we drove between the stores, she told me how Grandmother had talked to her friends at the Country Club who had friends named Valance with a daughter named Sherry. Sherry had said that in Tulsa in our area that it was important to get into the right social club. Grandmother wanted me to be with the Socials, like Sherry Valance, and she had set up for me to meet the sixteen-year-old girl going to my school.

I was watching the scenery as we crusied the streets of downtown, so it took me a moment to come to the startled realization that what Mother was telling about were the "Soshes" or "Socs" – the enemies of the East Side.

"Mother," I tried to explain. "We don't exactly live in a Sosh area. We're on the East Side, not the West."

"'Do not,' dear," she corrected. "Geographic location does not determine class. A nice girl like you would fit into the Social clique."

I sighed and looked out the window.

I felt my mother's eyes watching me as she stopped at an intersection.

She sighed heavily.

"I never fit into the social cliques either," she admitted softly.

Startled, I looked back at her.

Mother gave me a weak, nervous smile – as if she was saying she wasn't supposed to, and then looked back out the windshield as she continued driving.

"Honey, I promised your Grandmother that I would do my best to make sure you grew up right. Would you at least meet this Miss Sherry Valance at the local Country Club? Give it a chance before you make up your mind?"

She had pulled into the parking lot of another department store named Skillys, known to be the place where the Soshes shopped. Mother's expression was a silent plea. Grandmother Easter didn't really like Mother much. I realized that she was getting pressure from Grandmother to "raise me right." I wondered exactly what it was that Mother was concerned about Grandmother doing if she didn't obey.

For Mother's sake, I agreed. In my mind, I was wondering why Grandmother waited so long to help out like this. If she had offered me to join the Country Club and make friends with the Valances when I first got to Tulsa and before school started, I would have thankfully accepted. Now, I was starting to see things differently, and I wasn't sure. It was going to delay my plans for a little while, but maybe I needed some more time to figure out what I was going to.

So much for my grandparents "when in Rome" quote. Hmph.

Mother looked relieved while she turned off the engine of the car.

"Your grandmother is sending me some money to pay for these clothes. She said you asked for new clothes. She's right; with everything going on with the move, I should have taken you back-to-school shopping. I apologize for that. You need at least a new dress for tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yes. Since you missed Sunday Brunch, you will be meeting the Valances tonight for dinner."

"Tonight!?" I was caught off guard.

Mother nodded, looking slightly guilty.

"Grandmother Easter is insisting on it. Sorry for the short notice?" she was pleading with me to forgive her for this. "Please, Rebecca? Just do this tonight for your grandmother? If you don't like it, I won't make you go again. Deal?"

I reluctantly nodded. I could play the Sweet Southern Belle from Texas as a curtain call performance.

"Mother? After Skillys, can we go look at the clothes at the Pink Barn, please?"

Mother smiled, relieved, and nodded. The Pink Barn was the store for the Eastside. I heard Janet and Angela talking about it. Despite what happened tonight at the country club, I still lived off of Independence Street, so I was going that I fit in the Eastside, too. I may not be a Greaser, but I was determined to not be an outsider in my own neighborhood.


	8. Chapter 8

The Valances had picked me up at my house. Getting into their tuff car, I tried not to feel ashamed of my new house or the neighborhood I lived in. However, the Valances did not make any mention of me living on the Eastside's less than favorable area. Sherry was really nice; she has amazing red hair in a shade I have never seen before! At the Country Club, she wasn't a snob at all, and treated me so nicely. I was taken aback; I had expected her to act stuck-up, since I was the new girl in town. Instead, she explained her nickname was Cherry, and introduced me to her friends like Marcia, and a few other girls I didn't know their names. They invited me to go out to the movies with them sometime, and I gave them an uncommitted answer. The food was amazing! I had almost forgotten what a meal that consisted more of beans and cornbread tasted like.

When I got home, Mother asked if I had a nice time. I told her that I did, and it was an honest answer. My brothers were home; I could tell by the cacophony of the different music playing in the house. Mother had the Beatles playing downstairs. I didn't recognize the music Harrison and David were playing, but David has his music on the loudest, as if he was competing to win the prize for the most obnoxious music.

Before I went into my own room, I knocked on Harrison's door. I was startled to see David answer the door. If he was in Harrison's room, why was he playing the music so loud in his own, I wondered. I stood and stared at him for a moment, trying to judge his mood. David tended to be unpredictable in his moods.

"What?!" he demanded.

"May I come in?" I finally asked.

Harrison waved me in, and David quickly shut the door. I wasn't allowed to be in the boys' rooms with the door closed. I stood there against the closed door, feeling uncomfortable. My stepbrothers were nonchalant, as if my standing in the room was an ever day occurrence. David was looking through a collection of 45 records while Harrison was deciding what to play next.

"What's up, Beck?" Harrison asked, not looking up as he looked over his 45s.

"I have never heard this type of music before," I explained.

David just laughed at me, but didn't enlighten me.

Harrison's smile was kinder.

"I'm not surprised. It isn't considered the type of music "nice girls" listen to."

"Does it play on the radio?"

"In some places. It's better to buy the records instead."

"What song is this?"

"Purple Haze by Jimi Hendrix."

"Do you like it, Becky?" David asked, his grin feral.

I shook my head no. The sound was actually kind of scary to hear.

David laughed like a maniac at me.

"I told you!" he chortled at Harry. Harry just went back at looking at his records.

"How'd you get money for records?" I wanted to know.

David smiled knowingly and mysteriously. I ignored him, instead working at Harrison for an explanation.

"I got a part-time job," Harry explained.

"Cool! Where?"

"I guess your dad's family had connections with Mobil Oil, Becky?"

I nodded, not sure what that had to do with anything.

"Well, your grandfather made a phone call to the owner at the Mobil gas station, the one across from the DX? The DX has too many kids working there, and Mobil said they needed to bring in a few good looking boys like Steve and Sodapop. I got the job."

Why did he sound bitter, then? I wondered.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I guess looks do matter more than how good you work on a car in this town," Harry said in a rough voice, and then shrugged as if it didn't bother him.

I didn't see what was wrong with that, but I kept quiet.

"Here, Becky," Harrison said lightly. "Try this: you probably will like this type of music…"

He pulled out a brand new LP album!

"Harrison! How did you afford an LP! Can I see it? It's gorgeous!"

He smiled.

"If you like the music, I'll let you have it."

I hoped I would like it. I hadn't gotten a new LP since before my dad had died. Dad used to buy me a new records every week – an LP and the top three songs of the week on 45s. I decided, even before the music started to play that I would love the music. I didn't have to pretend: I DID love it!

"Who IS this?!" I begged. "Let me see the album, Harry, please?!"

He laughed and handed me the album cover. It was filled with all kinds of colors! There were rainbows in the corners, and a pink design in the center. I couldn't stop looking at it! It was unlike anything I had ever seen! There were hidden pictures in the colors, like the hourglass in the top left-hand corner, shadows by the dark purple colors.

"Oh My God," I breathed.

"I told you she'd like it," Harrison told David, who just rolled his eyes.

"Figures."

David left to go back to his room with a few new records to turn his up loud again. Harrison plugged in headphones for me so I could listen without the distraction of David in the other room. I wondered where he had gotten the money for so much new stuff, but I really didn't care. I was captivated by the songs.

"Days of Future Passed by the Moody Blues and The London Festival Orchestra" was the name of the album. I thought I loved the album, but it was the last song that blew me away! "Nights in White Satin."

When it ended, I impulsively threw myself at Harrison and gave him a big hug.

That's how my mother caught us when she opened the door.

She frowned deeply in disapproval.

"Rebecca? I have been calling you!" I couldn't hear her wearing the headphones. "What are you doing in here?"

"Listening to music," I said humbly.

"It's a school night," she reminded me. "All of you kids need to get to bed!"

Harry gave me a wink as I snuck pass my mother, feeling her eyes glaring at me as I crossed the hall to my bedroom. I slowly closed the door, then turned around to press my ear against it. I couldn't hear what she said to Harrison or his soft answer. With David, she got into such a heated argument with him, with David defiantly turning up the music as loud as he could turn up the volume, and switching the speed from too slow, to too fast. It made me giggle despite the yelling and screaming. Then my mother yelled for Jack to help, and his booming added to the fray. The noise woke up Baby Joey, so now he was crying and yelling, like babies do. It all ended in the sound of the crack of the leather belt wielded expertly by Jack, and then loud angry sobs of David.

Aside from David crying, there was silence for a moment. My parents spoke softly to one another, and then I jumped back from my door as my mother entered into my room.

"What are you doing? I thought I told you to go to bed! Get into your nightgown, Rebecca, and go to bed!" I don't think I had ever seen Mother so angry before. "I don't ever want to catch you again in your brother's room! You know you aren't supposed to be in there with the door closed! Never again, understand?"

I nodded quickly.

"Good night!" she said tensely, and then shut the door. "Do not leave this room until school tomorrow, understand?!"

I nodded.

She opened the door because she couldn't see me.

"Well?"

I nodded again, wondering what I should do if I had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, but I didn't think this was the best time to ask her that. I didn't understand why she was so mad. What was the big deal, anyway?

I continued to be the "good girl" and got ready for bed. I wrote to Ponyboy in my journal about what had happened tonight, using my flashlight under the covers so mom wouldn't see the light. I still hadn't worked out my new look, and now it was too late before school tomorrow.

I couldn't sleep, so I picked up one of my books to read before falling asleep. I had chosen Gone with the Wind.


End file.
